


The Trap

by IreneClaire



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Danny "Danno" Williams, Bromance, Claustrophobia, Drama, Fire, Gen, Hurt Danny "Danno" Williams, Hurt Steve McGarrett, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character Death(s), Protective Steve McGarrett, Temporary Blindness, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneClaire/pseuds/IreneClaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny and Steve are lured into a trap by men working for a dangerous criminal seeking revenge for his nephew's murder. While Rick Peterson was the sole culprit, Danny is also blamed for the mere fact that he was Rick's partner at the time. OC's of Rebecca, Ponch and Ellen Ramirez make appearances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Swifters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swifters/gifts).



> I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended. The same goes for Starsky and Hutch, its creators and its characters.
> 
> Notes: The inspiration behind my story is respectfully borrowed from the Starsky & Hutch Episode of the same name (The Trap, 1978) with Kristy McNichol.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

They'd done their homework with impeccable skill. Upon their arrival on Oahu, their first stop was to visit Tua Akana.

"We know all about you," the eldest man calmly advised the snitch. He was smiling, his voice soft, yet he was anything but sincere. Still, he was definitely trying to act the good cop of the pair within the ugly mix. The thing was ... he was failing miserably. "We know so much, your own _mother_ would be embarrassed."

"So make the call," the second man threatened nastily, his face only inches from Tua's. The Hawaiian wrinkled his nose as he winced away from the sour smell of the man's breath. Not that he smelled like a bed of roses, but the mainlander had a stench about him.

 _Yeah, bad cop_ ... neither were actually cops, but this guy was definitely playing the badder role of the two. Twitching uncomfortably as the men invaded his space and hustled him to the privacy of a back alley, Tua's attention was forced to the first man who was speaking again. The man's voice was calm and yet the threats were tossed about idly within a game of words. A skillful game where the man vacillated between a marked indifference and demanding that Tua remain careful of how he conducted himself. That Tua think wisely and simply agree to everything he'd been told to do.

"Just like we rehearsed it. Deviate and we'll kill you right where you stand. No fuss, no muss." The elder mainlander cackled loudly at the other's threat, his eyes glinting at the poor humor. "Trust me … you snitches are a dime a dozen ... but you should be honored that we chose to work with you first. Still, losing you isn't going to be much of a loss at all. So make the call and say exactly what we told you to say."

The younger second had already thrust the burner cell phone into Tua's hands. But in the end, it was the gun held to the aged informant's temple which more than did the trick.

"Danny? It's Tua," he yammered inanely into the phone, his eyes never ceasing to move from one of his abductors to the other. His fingers shook, his voice trembled badly as if he needed a hit. But in reality, his nerves had kicked in with a vengeance and he was petrified. The two had done their homework very well indeed. Tua Akana was a nobody in the grand scheme of things. Yet he'd been searched out with a rabid hunger as a very special link to a certain detective.

"Tua, _brah_. Yeah ... howzit?" Tua stammered over his tongue, the warning look from the elder mainlander enough for him to find the words. "I gotta see you, _brah_. Tonight. Its gotta be _tonight_. I got something for you; important stuff ' _bout_ that Lendon case - that rich bitch's murder - you know, that haole lady from last month? You'll like it, _brah_. Alone though … I gotta see you _alone_. I'm being watched, _brah_."

 _"Good boy,"_ the elder mouthed to Tua, unbothered by the obvious quaver in the Hawaiian's voice which could be blamed on any number of reasons. Drugs. A habitual case of nerves. Alcohol. The list was endless really. After all, those tendencies were the nature of being a snitch junkie and so, he was far from worried as Akana nearly forgot what to say. It was par for the course ... it was expected.

As his younger cohort rapped the muzzle of the gun against the old Hawaiian's temple, he sniffed in amusement when the snitch managed to rediscover his tongue. With an encouraging nod, his grin then turned evil as he held the piece of paper under the scruffy man's nose. The address to the meet was simple and designed to be remote. Private. Perfect for their plans. If the detective hesitated or paused, it would be here at this juncture. However, Tua had been duly prepped for such a negative response.

"Gotta be _there_ , _brah_ ," Tua insisted, sweat pouring down his face as Danny did indeed object to the location. "No can do, _brah_! No where else!" The neck of his thin t-shirt was drenched, his eyes widening to communicate his fear when Danny pushed back hard for a second time. His mouth flapped open soundlessly as he silently pleaded with the two men for reprieve, but they remained steadfast.

 _"Convince him,"_ the elder mouthed angrily.

With a nervous bob of his head, Tua licked his lips and pressed back in kind, his voice reedy and thin, the whine obvious as the barrel of the gun was wedged painfully into his hairline. A few minutes later, he heaved a loud sigh and almost smiled as he rushed through the rest of the call, his language falling into a natural and heavy pidgin.

"Okay, _brah ... tanks, bruddah!_ " When the call ended, Tua was wracked with relief as he shakily handed the burner back. He shook his head in fear though. His overall success wasn't exactly as they'd demanded and he wasn't sure what the men would do next. "He _don_ ' like it though, _brah_ ... and he _don_ ' wanna come alone," Tua shared hesitantly. "He _won_ ' listen to me _bout_ _tings_ like that … you know … he just … and early, _brah_. Danny's always early to our meets."

But the two mainlanders merely shrugged at this news. They'd adapt to whatever it might take to get their target in hand because that first step was critical for all the others to fall into place.

"You did good, so don't worry about it," the elder soothed dangerously. "Everything will work out in the end. We know Detective Williams as much as we know you, Tua. We know him ... _better_ in fact."

A few minutes later, they left together for that exact address; including the long-time snitch, Tua Akana, who had another purpose to serve.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	2. Chapter 2

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Two**

"Well, there goes my one and only early night this week," Danny griped unhappily as he re-pocketed his cell phone. "My guy has something to share on Lendon. Says it's _oh so important._ "

He dropped his head woefully into his hands, elbows propped on his desk. He was tired, running on empty and he'd been looking forward to that one Wednesday night where he'd be able to just catch up on his sleep.

"Your guy? Who was that?" Steve asked. His grin was lop-sided, yet understanding. The two had devoted the last 32 days to a mysterious murder with nary a clue and definitely not a single lead. They were running on fumes and soon to push the murder into their cold case files, but based on Danny's reaction, that decision could be premature.

"Tua Akana," Danny mumbled into his splayed fingers.

"Akana?" Steve questioned suspiciously. "Isn't this sort of thing a bit out of his league; he's into more petty stuff, right? He's not usually in the know for something this big."

The long time snitch had really been Meka's, Danny's first partner at the Honolulu Police Department. Meka Hanamoa had introduced Danny to the lean, weather-worn Hawaiian within his first week of settling on Oahu. He had a face which couldn't be accurately aged. Forty? Fifty? Over ninety years old? No one knew how old the hunched Hawaiian was and it probably wasn't far-fetched to believe that he didn't know how old he was himself; people only knew that Tua Akana seemed to have been around forever. He was simply an accepted - and mostly ignored - fixture. Even the hardened criminals who knew Tua for what he was - a casual snitch - ignored him or even took some amusement from his antics. The old man was never really a threat to any single one of them. However, he did hold some occasional value having helped Meka and Danny a number of times, even if it were to merely confirm or deny particular rumors. So Steve was very right: Akana was a local street-wise junkie, good for the random tidbit, and not usually up to par when it came to unsolved murders. Especially those involving well-heeled socialites.

"Whatever," Danny griped. "The short of it is, I'm obligated to listen to him and see what he's got to offer." He pushed himself backwards into his chair, arms falling akimbo, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. "Maybe it's his fifteen minutes of fame, Steve. Regardless, I have to check it out. He wants to meet me alone at midnight at the Haunani construction site. "

"Why all the way out there … and why so damned late?" Steve frowned thoughtfully. "And … Danny … this _smells_ bad. Alone isn't an option." He raised his finger in warning too, but Danny shook his head and cut him off before he had a chance to continue voicing his concerns.

"Things like this never smell good, Steve. Like I said, Tua's got his fifteen minutes of fame if this turns into something viable," Danny smirked in disgust. "But no, I'm not, well, _you_ for instance. So I have no plans of going it alone and you heard me tell him that yourself. But it's got to be in your truck since my car won't be ready until tomorrow. The parts won't be in to fix that little issue with the transmission mount until the late afternoon."

"It was just a little bit of a pot-hole, Danny," Steve said contritely, his thumb and forefinger demonstrating a small gap. "Small. Tiny ... really."

"Tiny? It was a crater, hence the need for a new mount," Danny replied far too evenly, his eyebrows raised daringly. "That car is _not_ built for off-roading, Steven."

"No. No, I guess it's not," Steve said, wincing at the rather severe look on his partner's face before wisely changing the subject back to that of Tua Akana. "So, let's get our gear together now and knock off for a few hours. Grab a bite to eat ... rest up a bit, or ...,"

" _Or_ swim the island in your case?" Danny jibed softly. "You should have enough time to at least make Maui and back."

"Wise ass, _Danno_ ," Steve snorted at the joke yet then sobered quickly. While he would normally would have loved a chance for a _short_ swim to ease tense muscles, it was nearing six o'clock in the evening. With a potential lead on the horizon, what he wanted to do no longer mattered. They had time to eat and maybe just enough left over to catch a nap before needing to get on the road by ten or ten-thirty. The construction site was a good hour outside the city proper and Steve's natural tendency to ensure they were suitably geared up kicked in as he ran through a mental checklist.

"How about we just eat first," Steve offered. "I'm starving."

"Sounds good to me," Danny replied with a jaw-breaking yawn as he got up from his desk. "Then a nap. Definitely a nap, Steven."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Becca heard their voices as soon as she opened the back door. Her father, Aunt and Uncle were in the kitchen, their voices hushed and earnest. The tension was palpable and their tone instantly put her on edge. The eleven year old paused, one hand on the door-frame while she instantly tried to catch the gist of their words.

"It's a bad idea, Mikey! What the hell are you thinking!"

Her eyes widened in awe when she heard the anger in her Uncle Ponch's voice. He never got angry; _hardly ever_ and she was surprised when she realized that he was mad at her own father.

"You need to tell that child everything," her Uncle Ponch snapped, his voice rising and pinging off the ceiling. "You need to tell her sooner rather than later, Mike. This isn't going to be fair. No matter when or how you tell her, this is going to be hard on her. It's not so simple as knowing she'll make new friends ... or settle into the new swing of things eventually."

Inside the kitchen, the big retired TAMC doctor rapped his fingers in an angry tattoo on the table. When his wife, Ellen, turned to face the two brothers, the wet creamer she'd been washing in the sink was still in her hands, but partially wrapped in a kitchen towel.

"Alfonse, keep your voice down," Ellen quietly pleaded with her husband, her expression communicating her own surprise at the depth of emotion she saw in his eyes. "Becca will be home from school any minute and she can't find you both arguing like this."

"Ponchie, I will ... it's just that I wanted to tell you both first," Mike stammered over his sister-in-law's words, a thankful glance aimed her way. "I thought you'd be happy for me - happy for us."

His elder half-brother was terribly upset though. Angry even and Mike Ramirez didn't know what to do with the unexpected reaction since he hadn't anticipated it in his wildest dreams. "And yes, of course! I was going to tell Rebecca when I got back. I wanted to be sure it was going to happen; I wanted the contract in hand," Mike added defensively.

"No, you need to tell Becca now," Ponch corrected him as he got to his feet. He shoved his chair back with his legs in order to stand. " _Before_ you go ... not afterwards. It's not fair any other way, Mikey."

Ellen winced and almost dropped the creamer when Ponch's chair dragged loudly across the floor. He stood tall, his impressive height on par with his brother's as he tried to control his next words because Mikey's face had adopted a mulish look. But it was the small stunned voice from just inside the kitchen door that sent the porcelain treasure crashing to the hard tile.

"Tell me what, Uncle Ponch?" Becca stood there, her school bag pack cradled up to her chin as if a shield. "What's not fair?" The stony look in her eyes was beyond her years as she stared first at her uncle and then into her father's guilty face.

"Becca," Mike said her name lamely, his arms hanging limply to his sides as if in defeat. "I was going to tell you ... but later."

She hesitated for a long moment staring hard at him before her tone turned to ice. "Daddy? Tell me what?"

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	3. Chapter 3

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Three**

Tears were rolling down Becca Ramirez's cheeks in a constant stream. She'd run away after being put to bed. It was simple really because she'd felt that she'd had no choice. Slipping soundlessly from her window, she'd made her way to Steve's house. She'd waited outside in the driveway, standing next to his big truck holding her backpack which was stuffed with her clothes. Confused once she got there since all the lights were on in his house. And even though Danny's car wasn't there, he was and she only wanted Steve. Danny was friendly with her father and she was friends with Grace, Danny's daughter. So she knew that he'd instantly call her father no matter what she'd beg. So only wanting Steve, she'd hugged her arms around herself in indecision while standing outside in the cool night air, completely unsure of what to do.

In the end, she'd snuck into Steve's big pickup truck, squirreling down low on the rear floorboards of the Silverado, she wedged herself underneath two large gear bags. She'd even poked one up so that it rocked partially on end against the rear seat. She'd made certain that not a single part of her peeked out from the relative darkness. Then she'd worked her shoulders down even more and pillowed her head on her backpack to wait. The fit was tight but not too uncomfortable; just enough room for her small frame. Her plan had been to announce herself once Danny left Steve's house. She didn't know when or how he'd leave; but even if Steve drove Grace's father home himself, Becca felt that she'd stay hidden long enough. Once they were alone, she'd explain herself and he would listen. He would understand that she just couldn't be forced to move to Seattle because her father had gotten a new job opportunity.

But now, as tears stained her blotchy face, she looked up at Steve without saying a single word. There had been no time to talk at all. Despite what she'd planned, she now remained as quiet as a church mouse. The two men had indeed gotten into the pickup truck shortly after she'd hidden herself. She'd been positive that Steve was going to drive Danny home. Instead, the truck had traveled for a very long time, their conversation focused on what she'd assumed to be a scary case involving some other man named Tua.

They'd parked the truck, readied their weapons one last time and then naively left her behind. She'd counted to ten after the driver's side door slammed closed, popped her head up and then eased herself out of the vehicle with her backpack. Amazed to see they were at a building site with big machines and lots of construction equipment. Unable to help herself, Becca had stayed to the shadows but had followed hot on Steve's heels.

Once inside the unfinished structure, Becca had heard Danny calling out to that new man named Tua. Calling and calling his name until the detective sounded utterly disgusted when no one answered. She almost laughed when his arms went straight up in the air to amplify his level of annoyance. But she'd smothered the giggle quickly and stuck to her plan. Intrigued by the mystery, Becca followed them anyway, not afraid then, but interested in seeing who this Tua was that was causing so much trouble.

She'd faded to the right when Danny and Steve stopped almost in the middle of a big empty room, hugging the rough hewn wall. Incredibly close to Steve, so much so that she held her breath, worried that he might hear before she was ready to reveal herself. But she'd forgotten everything as someone had shouted from high atop a rafter. It was Tua and she smiled at first because he was indeed there after all and that would make Danny happy at least.

But he was up so high! Like Danny and Steve, Becca's eyes flew upwards to the lone man on the high beam, transfixed. Scrawny, Hawaiian and nervous, Tua called out to them again and Danny replied angrily. She thought she heard the name _Callaghan_ said once or twice, Danny's agitation rising exponentially in response. She certainly heard Danny's curse and saw the stunned look on his face when he'd briefly turned to Steve. Whoever _Callaghan_ was, Danny was incredibly upset and Becca knew he must be a very bad man. She watched as his expression morphed into something which she'd never seen before.

Confusion? Fear? Disbelief?

Regardless, he'd channeled all those emotions into a very serious rage and Becca didn't understand their words after that. Not a single one, yet it didn't matter because Steve had hissed a warning to Danny and then the two men had backed away, weapons drawn and pointed upwards. More silhouettes had appeared up high and someone had laughed ... a new voice that was pure evil and Becca had felt her stomach churn for the first time in fear.

And then it happened. Before even the deafening sound of gunshots, _it_ happened.

In horror, Becca had watched as the figure of a tall muscular man bumped determinedly into the elder Hawaiian. The skinny man wobbled, lost his balance and then shrieked as he hovered poised nearly two stories above the floor. His arms had wind-milled like those of a puppet in the wind before he truly fell. He'd literally shrieked and then had _fallen_. He'd landed hard on the concrete floor with the loudest, most horrible bone-crunching of thuds which Becca had ever heard. Unable to help herself, Becca had let loose with a scream of her own, only to find herself face to face with her Uncle Steve. Both stunned to their very core.

 _"What are you doing here!"_ Steve had practically shouted the words. He was angry, too. Yelling and shouting at her and then over to Danny. Her only response to his fury had been a ceaseless flood of tears.

"I'm ... sorry!" Brought back to the present by a loud spat of gunfire, Becca felt another sob burble up inside her chest. She winced when Steve covered her ear to return fire; the sound of his weapon still overwhelming no matter his efforts. "Uncle Steve ... I'm sorry!" She was very scared now and certainly old enough to know that she'd made a terrible mistake. In utter dismay, she buried her face in Steve's shoulder.

"Just ... why are you _here_ , Becca?" Steve muttered uselessly. Worried beyond belief about keeping the little girl safe, Steve tucked her under his arm, intentionally hiding her face in his chest. Shielding her from the sight of Tua's broken body and whatever else their adversaries had coming their way.

 _What are we going to do?_ He glowered the unspoken thought unhappily towards where Danny crouched, watching the rafters for any sign of movement. When their eyes met, Danny's flickered once towards Becca, confused and incredibly upset. Then he looked as if he might cry before he steeled himself once more to cover their position from unseen attack. Steve heaved a knowing sigh because he felt precisely the same way. They'd prepared for contingencies but nothing like this; nothing that could have put a child in their midst. Options. They desperately needed options at minimum which would serve to save Becca.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Steve whispered into her mussed hair. There was no reply though, only the fearful shudder as something clanged loudly overhead. After mumbling something about wanting to stay with him forever, Becca had reverted quickly to old habits of wanting to fade into her surroundings. With that came the reticence to speak or engage with either of them. She'd shut down with only an occasional sniffled apology.

With such limited information, he could only deduce that she'd run away from home and hidden in the back of his truck. Why she would have done such a thing, remained a complete mystery. Something that they'd have to resolve later with her father, Aunt and Uncle … much later as another spatter of gunfire sent Danny cursing and scurrying for cover while Steve hunched protectively over the child.

"What are the chances these guys will give her a break?" Steve whispered to Danny. He stifled his angry response to his partner's curt negative head shake as Becca burrowed deeper into his vest. It didn't matter what he tried to hide or prevent her from knowing, she was scared But she was also far too smart and already knew that the stakes were astronomically high.

"If this really is about Callaghan? No. It'll never happen," Danny murmured softly, a nod indicating the rear of the building's structure. "We can get her out though. We have to." He'd been multi-tasking though his shock a variety of ways in which they could get the little girl out. They simply had to get her out in fact. There would be no excuses for him to do otherwise. Without a doubt, the lead had been too good to be true and they'd been purposefully lured into a well-constructed trap. But Danny couldn't fathom this truth and he shook his head about their attackers letting the little girl leave in one whole, live piece.

"It's never going to happen," Danny said. "They won't let her out. Callaghan doesn't care, but Becca's small … fast … smart. Stick our cell phones in her pack and have her run like hell. There's no other way."

"Who the hell is this Callaghan guy, Danno?" Steve asked angrily. With Becca wrapped around him, he kept his fury just barely under wraps as he ran his fingers in gentle circles over her back. "What does he want with you?"

Their cell phones had been rendered useless by a signal jammer, preventing them from sending or receiving any calls. The trap had been well planned out and orchestrated with pride. The one conversation had been brief but informative. Danny had nearly had an apoplectic fit when their adversary had revealed his boss's identity. _Tom Callaghan_. Someone from Danny's unfortunate past in New Jersey - a very dangerous someone who knew his old training officer much too well.

"God dammit," Danny muttered under his breath. "This can't be happening." He shook his head again, incredulous of what was going on that very moment.

"Danny?" Steve pursed his lips and scowled when his partner merely closed his eyes and thumped his forehead against the stack of wooden pallets which he hid behind. Steve had limited intel but whoever the guy was, he had it in for his partner and Danny knew exactly what was going down. Based upon his distressed reactions and what Steve clearly read as fear, it was bad and they would have almost no choices.

"Damn it. Yeah, that'll work - it has to." A soft thoughtful whistle came out of his mouth as Steve's studied the wall and vent which Danny had indicated. The idea was simple enough but incredibly dangerous. Nonetheless it was Becca's only chance and maybe even their own, too. Pushing his fingers through her tangled black hair, Steve grimaced at the sweaty heat under his hand. He had to convince the child to leave.

"Can you do that, sweetie?" Steve whispered into her hair. "If we create a distraction, can you run like hell and keep going until you find … anybody? A busy store? Or a restaurant? Call 911; get us help? But you have to keep going until you can't hear or see this place anymore … and then when you can't, only then call for help."

"No," Becca sobbed into his shirt, her voice raw and broken. "No, no, no!" She was tired and beyond frightened now. Steve represented safety and leaving him seemed even more scary than staying.

"But I need you to be brave," Steve replied quietly, his heart breaking as her sobs turned into hiccups. With an effort, he began to untangle her arms from around his neck. "This is something that only you can do. You're small and so fast … so very, very fast, Becca. Can you do this for us? Can you go get help? We need help."

Shaking her head, she moaned deeply in her throat as a strange man's voice threatened her Uncle Danny again, the vibration of her own mewled sounds rumbling gently into Steve's chest. The stranger wanted Danny to die and he kept repeating the threat over and over again.

"Uncle Steve …," Becca hiccuped as a big whooshing sound suddenly filled the inside if the partly constructed building. It was loud and Becca turned big eyes up to look into Steve's face. But he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Danny and scowling as a strong smell of diesel rankled his nose.

"Generators," Steve muttered Danny's way. "Something's up … this isn't good, Danno."

"Shit, ya think Steven?" Danny groused. Callaghan's goons had just promised a rather spectacular _party_. One filled with fireworks … tailored just for the hapless detective. "Get her out, Steve. Get her out of here now." They both felt it then. An eerie pause, a quiet lull that wasn't exactly quiet at all. Something was definitely going to happen. Something _big_ and they needed to act.

"Steve!" Danny barked out his warning as three shadowy silhouettes ran along the upper rafters of the building. "Look out!" Rapid gunfire pinged around them and Steve folded nearly in half this time, his upper body completely shielding Rebecca as only Danny returned fire.

"Now!" Danny shouted, his eyes communicating an unaccustomed level of fear. "Get her out of here now, Steve! _Do it!_ "

"Becca, you have to do this," Steve said, taking the girl's tear-stained cheeks between both his hands to lob a kiss on her forehead. Behind him, Danny was peppering the area with gunfire, the pops and pings nearly relentless now. "You can. You're fast ... so fast! You need to go and I need to help Uncle Danny … go get help, baby!""

Her face was mostly pale, yet covered in unsightly red blotches. He smiled in a ridiculous attempt to ease some of her fright as he released her to shove both their cell phones into her school backpack. Then he was slinging it onto her shoulders and literally dragging her towards what would be an air conditioning outtake vent once the new construction was completed, if it ever was as a loud bang emanated from beneath them.

"Uncle Steve?" Becca whispered, her eyes forever wide in her face. They smelled the new odor at the same time. A thick scent of metal, iron and burning wood that could only mean one thing and Steve winced as it brought back a myriad of bad memories.

Incendiaries.

"Go and don't look back," he demanded. Using both hands, Steve forced his fingers into the seam of the metal intake. He cut the skin on his fingertips, yet only yanked harder to get the grate off, relieved to see the vent was as short as he'd hoped with just enough light making it in though its opposite end. She could fit. She _could_ get out.

"You can fit," Steve voiced in her ear as he tugged her hand and physically aimed her into the vent. He pushed her in then, not giving her a chance to decline or hesitate. "Go! Keep you head down, kiddo and just get moving."

"But ... Uncle Steve," Becca hiccuped brokenly, her voice muffled and tinny. "I … can't."

"You have to," Steve insisted as Danny hollered for help. Gunfire had erupted all around them and he had no time. Rebecca only needed to run. "Get out of here ... and don't look back." When he was only able to see the soles of her sneakers, Steve let the grate slam shut behind her.

In the partial darkness of the aluminum pipe, Becca cringed at the metal on metal screech which signaled that Steve had now left her alone. She crawled hastily forward, her backpack skimming tightly up against its low ceiling. Her chin trembling as more tears cascaded down her cheeks leaving wet tracks were they fell on the dusty metal. But she was moving with only a single goal in mind: to get help.

"She's out," Steve informed Danny as he rushed back to his position. "What the hell happened?" He cursed at the billow of smoke emanating in from the front of the building, dirty particles still cascading though the air.

"Good!" Danny hissed through his teeth about Becca, his stress now openly showing even more. "That bang you heard? They blew the front almost in half … we can't get out the way we came in."

"Son of a bitch," Steve cursed. "At least Becca's good ... she's in the clear." There was no bound to the relief in his voice as he stayed crouched low, returning to take a position near Danny by the front of what would one day have been the new building's main foyer. In front of them in the middle, lay Tua Akana's body. Sprawled where he died, the elderly Hawaiian was now covered in a thin layer of grayish soot. "She's quick, I'll give her that. With any luck, she'll get a call out."

"Quick and ... incredibly just ... so damned ...," Danny stammered in his worry wanting to say _stupid_ , but afraid to voice the sentiment. He certainly hadn't been very smart himself that night. "Why the hell was she hiding in your truck?" He ran his hand through his hair, noticing then how shaky he was as his fingers snagged through dusty sweat.

"You shouldn't be here either," Danny whispered suddenly. He looked at Steve square in the face, his fear now showing blatantly. "He wanted me alone in the first place. You shouldn't even be here, Steve. Not for this. He wants me - not you."

"Whatever you're getting at, you just can forget about it," Steve replied angrily. He glared at Danny for even suggesting he try to leave him behind. "How about you just fill me in, partner. So tell me, Danny, who is this guy? Who _exactly_ is this Callaghan character and why does he have it in for you?"

"Peterson." Danny swallowed hard, his throat dry as an acrid smoke trickled into his nostrils. His eyes teared as he coughed harshly before being able to repeat the name. "Rick Peterson."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	4. Chapter 4

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Four**

For a very long moment, Steve's brain backfired. He clearly heard the name and it conjured a face he wasn't even sure the criminal's mother loved. He knew precisely what Danny said, but he couldn't believe it. Brow furrowed, Steve shook his head as he eventually lobbed his argument back towards his partner.

"No ... what? Peterson? That's ... _impossible_!" Steve scowled darkly when Danny merely looked at him as he allowed him the time to further process the information. "He's in jail, Danno. What the hell's going on? Are you saying that he sent someone to take you out? Is this some sort of further retribution? He wouldn't have the reach!"

"You're right. He wouldn't have the reach," Danny whispered in agreement. "This is _because_ of him … it's because of what he tried to pull me into back in Jersey. His affiliation to Tom Callaghan and what he did to Callaghan's nephew, Jaylen."

Steve quieted as he digested the implications of what his partner had just revealed. He even momentarily forgot about the attackers poised overhead. Danny was no fool, not by a long shot. But teamed out of the academy with a well-oiled, dirty, manipulative cop had its learning curve.

"Shit," Steve muttered as certain things clicked into place. Whatever happened had to have been early on. Maybe even one of the many reasons why Danny had eventually testified against Peterson. He chuffed a disgusted sound under his breath when he took those assumptions so many steps further to the present. Anything remotely related to Rick Peterson and his dealings would make absolute sense. "Okay. So fill me in and tell me what we're up against, Danny."

"Callaghan was a mid-level mafioso and Rick antagonized him," Danny replied, his voice hushed as he kept his attention trained towards the heights. "Rick got his nephew killed … murdered and the kid should never have been out there in the first place. He was a good kid ... a college kid with a real future ... and Rick set him up."

"But … details," Steve complained because he could see there was so much more based on Danny's expression. "What are the details?"

"You want the ugly details?" Danny growled sardonically. "Jay was raised by his uncle after his father was killed by a rival gang. His uncle had vowed to keep Jay out of the family business. He'd allow the kid to grow up ... normal ... have opportunities and be safe. Do you know how hard that is for a family like Callaghan's that traces its illegal roots back to Ireland? Nearly impossible and yet Tom had done it."

Maybe not so strangely, Danny was impressed by what Tom Callaghan had achieved for his brother's son - impressed and therefore, duly upset by what had subsequently happened. Agitated by the upsetting memories, he waved his hand through the dust-filled air. "All that really matters is that I was Rick's partner at the time, therefore equally as guilty by association. Equally to blame for Jay's death and it doesn't matter that I testified against Rick either. As far as Tom Callaghan's concerned, there's no other truth. I only went to court to save my own hide."

"Geez, Danny," Steve murmured quietly. "What a mess."

Danny sighed tiredly. His eyes were beginning to burn from the smoke and he was quickly learning the depths of Callaghan's determination. In a way, he should have known this would happen one day. He might be out of sight so many thousands of miles away from New Jersey, but he'd never been out of Callaghan's mind.

"Rick and I busted Jaylen on a routine traffic stop and found a small amount of marijuana and a few prescription drugs in the car. Nothing major; in all reality, he could have gotten a slap on the wrist. I didn't know who he was at the time, but Rick sure did and he used the kid by cutting a bad deal with him; the excuse being that his uncle wouldn't find out if he did Rick a favor or two."

"What happened?" Steve asked, though he easily sensed where the story was going to wind up. "What kind of favors did Rick want in return for this supposed free pass?"

"To avoid the charges and get around his uncle from ever knowing, Rick forced Jay into a sting operation on his college campus," Danny hurriedly whispered as footsteps scurried overhead. He briefly closed his eyes, nervous as another bang reverberated off to their far left. Placement of the incendiaries had been purposefully planned. Of course it had been planned out well in advance. In his mind's eye, Danny envisioned each corner of the building being totally taken to ruin. There'd be no way out by design.

"He was immediately in over his head," Danny said as he squirmed uncomfortably in his crouch, his knees objecting as a harsh coughing fit took his breath away. He wiped his eyes, and coughed a few times again, his voice gravelly as he continued for Steve's sake. "But Rick saw an opportunity to get to Tom Callaghan by controlling his nephew. He had stars in his eyes about the money he'd earn through bribes or whatever the hell he was doing."

"And of course, Peterson lied to Jaylen," Steve cursed softly under his breath as he guessed where Danny was going with the story. "Then it all went side-ways."

"Side-ways is an understatement. The kid was only eighteen and thought he was being so damned smart," Danny said ruefully. "He thought he was playing Rick so well; and Rick is the one that had him over a barrel. And me? Dumb ass as a brick; I was just as ignorant and went along for the ride. I was _just_ as stupid. Rick lied to Jay, used him, and led him by the nose as if he were his best friend, then got him killed that night."

"So now, Callaghan's tracked you down?" Steve said. "After all this time?"

"Can you blame the man for what he believes happened?" Danny bemoaned. "But with Rick back in jail ... if we get out of here, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that there's been some unfortunate accident. Callaghan's been waiting a long time for this opportunity, Steve. A very long time. Callaghan's been biding his time to gain more power and its obvious that he's got his contacts in the system - plus he's stayed motivated. I just never though he'd really try to come after me all the way out here."

"All right, Danny," Steve whispered softly. Danny was getting more and more upset as the smell of burning wood and chemicals began to sting their eyes. Every other word for each of them was becoming a contest against a wetly gagged cough. They could barely see and their original egress was completely blocked. "We know our enemy … so let's fight one battle at a time. Becca's out and we have to assume that the cavalry is on the way. Next question: how do we get out of here?"

"There has to be another way out. Right? I mean … how the hell are they going to get out of here?" Danny suggested since their attackers were most definitely inside the building. "Maybe they'll make a mistake."

"We have to do something - we can't wait for that to happen," Steve replied as he eyed the rafters though billowing dust and smokey clouds. He coughed as sooty particles floated in the air and the acrid odor of smoke seemed to increase. "Regardless of what Becca is able to pull off, we can't wait for help to come to us either."

"There's not much on this side. Maybe try for that far north corner … there was a temporary door near where we came in … it could lead out or at least to a position that's better," Danny said, cursing under his breath because his idea could also potentially worsen their cause - if that could even be possible. "We could try to break it down and get out. It's better than doing nothing and sitting here on our asses."

"Agreed. Let's do it," Steve agreed as he drew in a lungful of stringent air. He gagged and then coughed hard, his lungs spasming. But then his eyes widened in surprise as another incendiary was discharged off to their right. The very structure seemed to shake on its limited foundation and that was enough to provide further reason to act. "We gotta go, Danny. Let's go for that door."

"Fine." Danny shook his head in frustration. Callaghan's men had done an excellent job and they were duly trapped if they stayed hunkered down where they were; they had to try something even if it were another ploy - yet one more trap to contend with. "Fine, it's probably suicide but let's do this together. So? On three?"

"I'll go first," Steve ordered just as yet a fourth incendiary device was discharged and gunfire erupted around them. A new influx of dust and debris was sent skywards, clogging their nostrils and blinding their eyes. The building seemed to sway, worsened by a weird vortex of shifting air. They could barely see each other now, but that fact also meant that they could be shielded from view by their attackers. At least, in theory.

"Cover me," Steve shouted over the din as he pointed towards the hazy outline of a hazy outline nearest a doorway. Barrels or construction material, it seemed high and sturdy enough to offer protection. "If I make that partition, I'll be able to draw their fire for you to give it a shot."

"What the hell kind of plan is that, Rambo?" Danny argued instantly against the idea. His rant loud and incredulous as his partner dug his heels in to make the sprint. "Steve? Cover you? Together - I wanted to do this _together_! Steven!"

But Steve was already gone, neatly avoiding the worst of his partner's rant as it was swallowed up by a volley of rapid gunfire and he was enveloped by the grayish cloud. Then Steve got just so far before he jerked to a halt. As if some unseen force had plucked him up by the scruff of the neck, he spun a partial forty-five degrees and went down hard on his chest. Legs splayed wide, the stunned sound he made was swallowed by the onslaught of gunfire moments before he even realized that he needed to get moving. By sheer will, his training kicked in and he began crawling on his elbows like mad. But his goal had drastically changed direction as he sought more immediate protection.

"Steve! Shit!" Danny hollered when he saw his friend fall. He broke his cover immediately, intending to follow in Steve's erratic wake and provide cover. Weapon firmly held inside both his hands, Danny raised his arms straight up and shot repetitively towards the heavens in an attempt to dissuade and push Callaghan's men back. Oddly, he almost got his way because there was a sudden cessation of noise. Except for the deep thrum of the generators, all was quiet and Danny thought that they might actually have gotten a bit of luck.

"Steve?" Danny croaked out around a cough at the same time a series of loud clangs rang through the heart of the building. "Steve! Where the hell are you!?" The grit had settled on his face and in his hair. He could feel it as it caked onto his sweat and then wound up distastefully on his tongue. He spat out the sickening tiny grains, coughing at the bitter taste. More seemed to get into his eyes and he swiped his hand across his face, mixing the grunge with his sweat and smearing it into brownish lines. Danny had lost his partner; in the musty gloom, he'd entirely lost any sign of Steve.

"Ah, ah, ah, gentlemen!" The same evil voice suddenly called out. "Where do you think you're off to?" Callaghan's man was loud and his disembodied voice was full of amusement. "We can't have you going anywhere now ... can we? The party's just beginning. We're only getting started and Mr. Callaghan would be terribly disappointed ...so please do stay awhile."

"I don't think so!" Danny shouted back angrily as he slammed another full clip into his weapon. He raised his arms again to fire where he thought the voice was coming from, but a split second later he was set awash within a flood of blindingly bright spotlights. Stranded where he stood, he gurgled in shock, any other retorts forgotten as four high intensity construction spotlights illuminated his entire body. The lumens rendered him instantly blind as the light pierced his retinas and he flung his arms over his face to protect his eyes. Feeling as if he'd been thrust into the sun, Danny staggered and tried to walk, but the light seemed to follow his every move. Shuffling forward, unable to see, he tripped over Tua Akana's dead body and lost his bearings entirely. With a shout, he fell heavily onto his hands and knees. Eyes vainly wedged shut, he tried to keep his gun inside nerveless fingers.

" _Danny_!" Separated from Steve by a good number of yards, Danny didn't hear Steve's startled shouts or commands to get moving. He only knew that he couldn't see as the high beams relentlessly drilled through his lids.

"Danny!" Steve rasped uselessly, his voice failing to carry. "Get up … get the hell out of there!"

Bleeding profusely, Steve fisted the now ruined material of his cargo pants near the gaping bullet wound on his upper thigh. He'd been spun clear off his feet by the single round fired from a high powered rifle. A cold sweat trickled down his face, irritating his neck, while more stained the space under his vest, creating a dark wet line between his shoulder blades.

"Danny!" No matter how hard he tried, Steve couldn't get to his feet or even find a way to kneel. Danny couldn't hear him either. In fact, he wasn't even facing in Steve's general direction by that point. Spurred on by fear, Steve continued to make every attempt to find his legs. Using his right knee to bear his weight, he balled the material of his cargos in his hand and pulled hard on his left leg to forcibly adjust its position. Teeth gritted in determination, he barely budged the damaged limb an inch when a raw pain traveled straight down to his toes. Inside his boot, his toes painfully tried to flex and a debilitating spike of pain made his vision dwindle to a mere pinprick. He found himself gagging from a surge of nausea. Bile flooded his mouth and Steve coughed raggedly around the acidic burn in his throat before he spat a wad of thick phlegm off to the side. He rocked in place, his world becoming a microcosm of dizzying pain where he could barely draw in a half a decent breath.

"No, no, no," he groaned as he dug his nails into his palm to stay focused. He didn't have time to pass out. What had first been momentarily numb when he'd found himself inexplicably lying prone, was now throbbing in time to the pounding beat of his heart. But he didn't have the time nor the wherewithal to care for the heavily bleeding wound as Danny was illuminated center stage. Completely exposed and unprotected, Danny was lit up and put on display for all to see and take advantage of despite the dirt and debris which filled the air.

"Turn those God-damned things _off_!' He screamed on his last lungful of air as he helplessly watched Danny flounder. There was no reply though except for the subtle sound of a pleased laugh. In anguish and frustration, Steve began a partial crawl while dragging his useless leg behind until he found a better position. Then mimicking Danny's earlier feat, Steve balanced himself on the edge of his right hip and fired repeatedly into the hidden depths of the rafters, all the while praying that one bullet might at least take out one of the machines or even a bulb - _anything_.

Outside of the deadly bright circle, Steve winced at the severity of the illumination. He hacked around strained panted breaths of air, eyes tearing from the weird combination of smoke and bright lights. He ignored the murky feeling which was growing inside his head, no doubt caused by shock and the increasing amount of blood which continued to saturate his pants at much too steady of a rate. The industrial lights were strong - the kind used during night time road construction - they were so powerful that they even parted the smoke making the haze morph from black to gray and then to white.

Bathed in an eerie pall, Danny was officially a sitting duck for any one of Tom Callaghan's devoted men.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	5. Chapter 5

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Five**

She scraped her hands and then cut her knee after needing to kick her way free at the opposite end of the narrow vent. The aluminum edges were sharp and the outtake completely unfinished, both a blessing and a curse as it yielded under her pressure and yet the metal pulled at her hair and at the canvas of her backpack. When her pack finally got stubbornly snagged, Becca broke down entirely, her nose dripping non-stop from the strength of her sobs. Courage running out, she yanked on her pack over and over until she fell on her butt when the strap finally ripped in half. Then she scrambled to her feet to do just as Steve told her. As soon as she was free of the vent, Becca didn't think anymore. She just ran.

She misbehaved once though. She couldn't help herself as she looked back from a dusty rise on the rear access road where it ended at a T-junction leading even higher to a paved tertiary road. From its dark looks, that road wasn't well-traveled either and she'd have to go even further to find real help. Still, her breath punctuated by hiccuped sobs, Becca turned around to look at the construction site expecting to see the building engulfed in flames. But there was no orange or red glow of any kind, so she looked harder. With a startled gasp, Becca realized that she could just make out endless plumes of black smoke. As she watched in awe, the black clouds coalesced, billowed up higher and then completely blocked the moonlit sky when a distant gust of wind swirled them together.

She wavered in place until she saw the lights of a large car or maybe it was a big truck leaving the construction site. The front lights shimmied and bobbed from the rough ground the vehicle traveled as it accelerated from the opposite corner from which she'd just escaped. A frightened sob made her shoulders quake in fear when she realized that was taking a path which bisected her access road. Within seconds, the vehicle was headed directly her way and at a very high rate of speed.

Knowing full well she couldn't be found … _she couldn't be seen_ , Becca whirled around, her eyes searching for a place to hide. In an instant, she'd slid down a culvert and then clambered up its opposite side, fading into the dense brush as the roar of the big car closed in on her. Climbing ever higher and deeper into the thickest portions she could find, Becca's fright kept her moving on her hands and knees until she found a big rock. She dared peek out just in time to see the headlights of the big sedan go speeding past her small hideaway, completely oblivious to her existence. Then, even before the sound of its engine had died away, Becca hastily fished out one of the cell phones. She thumbed it on, tears falling faster when a healthy column of signal bars flashed in the corner of the screen.

"Help," she sobbed, biting her lip hard to stop her voice from shaking when the 911 operator answered so quickly. "I need _help_ ..."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"Fuck! Danny!" Steve shouted again as he aimed his weapon at the rafters and then where he thought the powerful lights were setup. He fired round after round, his jaw set in grim determination. Hoping against hope he could disable one of the machines or incapacitate any of their attackers and buy enough time for Danny to come to his senses. Pausing to slam a new clip into his weapon, he briefly wondered why no one had opened fire on his partner. But that fact offered no consolation. Steve could only watch helplessly as Danny fumbled along on his knees, one forearm flung protectively over his eyes. Steve watched as his partner suddenly stopped, his other hand fisted around his weapon as he tried to get up. From being stranded on his knees, Steve watched as Danny gained a half crouch and then forced himself to stand, earning nothing more than a hunched quivering posture.

"That's my boy! Come on ... come on!" Steve chanted though clenched teeth. "Get out of there!" Danny was finally on his feet but he was still trapped and completely disoriented; not entirely listening.

Then incredibly, they were plunged into darkness and Steve squinted though a disconcerting aura of shimmering images that weren't really there. Besides the ongoing hum of generators, there was no other sound now except for the building itself which groaned ominously from the abuse inflicted upon it.

"Come to me, Danno!" Steve rasped out as he cursed the pain in his thigh. He had to get up; there was no other way for Danny to reach safety without his help. Shoving his weapon into its holster, Steve rallied his reserves, using anything he could to get to his one good leg. He lunged forward sloppily, his hands finding purchase on another stack of wood, his upper body falling across part of the stack while he called out again because Danny didn't seem to realize that the lights had been shut down. "Hey! Danny! Follow my voice and come me straight to me. _Move_ , Danny … get out of there."

"Steve," Danny pushed out as he struggled to simply stay vertical, hunched and swaying in indecision. "Steve ... I can't ... see. I can't see."

"I know, I know," Steve said. His worry skyrocketing since Callaghan's men could turn the blindingly bright lights back on at any given moment. "Just turn a step or two ... walk straight ahead ... to me."

Danny jerked a nod while he rubbed carefully at his eyes, the dazzle and after image formation having no time to lessen whether his eyes were opened or closed. He tentatively peered out from under his lashes but the dim area he'd seen just before he'd been exposed to the bright lights shimmered annoyingly in and out each time he blinked. He couldn't really see as the after image encompassed his eyesight to float and dip, one hundred times worse than that of a regular camera flash. It was impossible for him to see correctly as he began to shuffle forward, trusting Steve to coach him out of danger.

"I'm glad to see you've both decided to stay," the amused voice boomed overhead. "Do you like this game of hide and seek, Detective? Or, is this more like that old childhood game of _Marco Polo_?"

"Steve?" Danny whispered, his voice scarcely audible as his stomach clenched in fear. The cruel game was poised to start again and he had no idea where to go or what to do.

"I'm ten feet directly in front of you, Danno," Steve coached, his eyes flickering from Danny to the upper corners, vainly looking for where the attack would come from next. "Walk, buddy. It's a straight line ... come on."

"This was unexpectedly _fun_ ," the voice happily intoned over the sound of Steve's voice. "The lights were a last minute addition to the evening's fun and games." The voice drowned out their quiet words but not Danny's rising sense of fear which was so very palpable. "Regardless, before we leave you to end this night, I was asked to deliver a special message, Detective Williams. Mr. Callaghan particularly would like to thank you for coming out this evening. It's been a pleasure getting to know you and he hopes that you'll enjoy the finale."

On the last syllable, the floodlights were flipped back on and Danny choked on the verge of calling out Steve's name. He swayed alarmingly on his feet, his arms flung back over his face, eyes hidden in his shirt sleeves. With another gurgle as Steve's frantic shouts demanded he move and a pleased laugh overwhelmed the hum of the generators to ricochet around him, Danny stumbled forward. His free hand outstretched, his right arm flung over his eyes, he picked what he hoped was the right direction.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," Danny moaned as he screwed his eyes shut and groped blindly along. "Where ... where the hell are you? Steve?" It was as if he'd been thrown directly into the sun and no matter how hard he tried to protect his eyes, the light still snuck in.

"More ... more!" Steve shouted from where he stood partially propped across the rough-hewn stack of lumber. "Come on! _Move_ , Danny … try to get closer to me!"

Groaning in pain, Steve pushed himself up and ignored the heat which soaked further down his leg. There was a frightening swath of stickiness which made the material of his pants cling down to his knee as he rocked determinedly off the wood. He called on everything he had to stay upright in order to meet his partner those last few steps.

"Here," he called as Danny lurched closer. "Here, come on!" No longer behind any type of protection himself and on the fringes of the bright light, Steve was clearly visible. Danny was close now; barely a few steps. Taking the risk, he aimed for Danny, his own eyes not quite opened but able to see his partner's hazy silhouette. Then oddly enough, they were once more plunged into darkness and with that change, Steve struggled forward with a surge of adrenalin.

"Here!" Steve rasped out as he blinked wildly to clear his latest flux of visual disturbances. He went for where he thought Danny would be, his vision momentarily unreliable. "Give me your hand ... _your hand_ , Danny!" Steve forgot about Callaghan's men to focus solely on making a grab for Danny but he missed entirely when their hands comically bypassed each other.

"Easy ... _easy_! I got you," he promised as he finally snagged Danny by the thin material of a shirt sleeve, then gained purchase on an elbow. He dug his fingers into Danny's skin as his partner latched onto his arm with a death-grip. Half out of relief and half for the sake of his own dwindling reserves, Steve pulled Danny into his arms only to then propel him directly in front of his body. He pushed hard, aiming Danny for the safety at the base of the tall stack of lumber before the industrial lights could be turned back on.

"Get down! _Down_ ," Steve demanded as he switched his hold to the back of Danny's vest. He stumbled off balance, his entire weight pitching forward hard enough to take Danny down as if being tackled from behind. They fell hard together, Steve unable to stop his momentum so that Danny took the brunt of his weight. He moaned at the pain which the tumble caused, stunned as the knife-like agony in his left leg toyed with his senses.

"I got you, Danno. I got you," he whispered faintly, his eyes closing in exhaustion and relief as Danny lay partially underneath him. Dropping his head to the back of Danny's vest, Steve tried to rally the energy to move from where he half pinned his partner to the floor, but he failed as his world tilted on end. He tried to tell Danny that he needed help, too ... he tried to apologize to Danny a split second before he simply couldn't.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	6. Chapter 6

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Six**

"Steve?" Danny was on his hands and knees at the base of the stack of lumber, the rough feel of the wood providing a solid buffer against his right shoulder and what he couldn't see. After carefully working his way out from under Steve's dead weight, he didn't dare move much more; nor did he want to. He was blind as far as he was concerned and honestly scared half to death. A disorienting nonstop migraine-inducing dazzle and a weird after image formation were now official symptoms of a very real case of flash blindness.

He couldn't see a damned thing. Not even a single finger in front of his nose, and it wasn't due to the increasing amount of smoke behind which he sensed a smoldering heat.

On his hands and knees, Danny stayed low to manually take stock of his immediate surroundings. While he worked, he vainly tried to ignore the final parting threats lobbed his way by Callaghan's man, including the mind-numbing sound indicating that the commercial lights were being flung back on - this time permanently. Doing his best to focus on Steve and where they were, he used his hands to measure the length and breadth of the pile of lumber. When he was somewhat assured of its size, he carefully dragged Steve to lay further up against its base, praying that what he was doing made sense.

"Steve?" He whispered desperately while he did a rapid check of Steve's vitals. He grimaced at the clammy texture of Steve's skin as he sketched his fingers over his face and neck. Willing himself to concentrate, he felt for the carotid artery, not entirely pleased by what he could feel. His subsequent check of Steve's pulse had him cursing under his breath for its much too rapid flutter.

"Where are you hurt, babe?" He chanted to himself while he studiously fought to stifle his own urges to cough. "Where, Steve? Where did you get hit?"

Danny began a manual search of Steve's body starting with his friend's head. Forcing himself to be methodical, he closed his useless eyes as he diligently searched Steve's head, neck and upper body first. He searched for bumps, scrapes and for the sticky feel of blood, cursing helplessly under his breath when he found nothing.

 _Nothing_ along Steve's arms or down to his hands. Not a blessed tear, rip or hole anywhere on his vest front or back, or around his waist. Growing ever more frantic, Danny found nothing amiss until he worked his way in the opposite direction up Steve's booted feet and lower legs, searching higher until his fingers found first signs of moisture on Steve's left knee. He choked down a curse and maybe even a frustrated sob as he carefully probed higher, learning by touch alone that the cargo's weren't just spattered by blood, they were saturated.

"Where, where … _where_ is it?" Danny chanted as he methodically poked and prodded the soaked material. Sticky from blood, he had difficulty finding the tear in the fabric and then the actual wound. "Steve? Come on … please help me out here. Where is it?"

He found the ugly hole a fraction of a second later, no exit apparent and blood leaking out at a disturbingly high rate. Lips pressed together and his face lined in stress, Danny used one hand to unbuckle his belt while he used his palm to apply pressure on the wound. Envisioning the injury in his mind's eye, Danny wended the belt under Steve's leg and pushed it into place. When it felt right, he cinched the leather tight, then re-checked the position before he adjusted it even tighter. The resulting pained groan and the weak rise of hands that briefly fought with his own, substantiated he'd found the right spot.

"Steve," Danny whispered. "Leave it ... leave it alone, babe. I have to stop the bleeding." He grunted a second later though, the shock of Steve's knuckles sloppily colliding with his cheekbone sharp and unexpected.

"Shit! Steve ... hold up!" Danny blindly sought Steve's hands as the man jerked awake, another backhand finding his chin next with a solid enough slap for Danny's head to rock on his neck. " _Steve_!" To protect himself, he hid his face in the crook of his arm, cringing to the side where he could feel the lumber under his shoulder. His other hand searched and then found Steve as he roused more, his fingers tucking into the velcro near Steve's shoulder to keep tabs on his friend's general position.

Steve groaned as he came around, his first reaction to lash out, no matter how weakly. " _D...Danny,_ " Steve mumbled when he roused more, the new agony in his leg rudely pulling him from his funk. His eyes fluttered and then finally stayed open, stupidly looking towards Danny, not quite remembering what had happened. He watched, confused, as Danny very slowly lowered the arm he'd been holding up in front of his face. A bright murky light glowed behind Danny scarcely allowing Steve to read his full expression for the shadows it cast.

"You ... _okay_ ... are you ... with me now?" Danny carefully asked, unsure if Steve had caught up to the here and now.

"Sorry ... Danno," Steve breathed out as he realized what he'd just done. Even in the haze, he could see the ruddy mark on the side of Danny's face and the way in which he kept blinking his eyes. "I didn't mean ... I wasn't thinking. Are you okay?"

"Fine ... I'm perfectly fine," Danny choked out through a false chuckle, a noise that was embarrassing at best before he tried to muster a grin in the general direction of Steve's face. His cheek stung and he was completely blind; but these were minor inconveniences based on what he sensed Steve's condition to be. Afraid he was failing miserably at accurately finding Steve's face, he closed his eyes instead and ducked his head down, focusing on the bigger issue. "Listen to me. I need you tell me how your leg looks. What does the tourniquet look like - is it in the right spot?"

"Oh," Steve said in astonishment. "Did I get hit? I think I got hit."

"Ya think?" Danny groused unhappily, his voice hoarse and strained from worry and the ever-increasing whiff of acrid fumes. Still on his knees, he reached out again, repositioning himself next to Steve's side. Cautiously he groped until he found the buckle and settled his hand on the belted piece of leather. Heaving in a sigh which did nothing to settle his frayed nerves, he kept his eyes closed. What did it matter anyway? He certainly couldn't see with them open and while he was afraid, he was no longer concerned about Callaghan's men coming closer. It wasn't the plan; being gunned down had never been what the mafioso had wanted. Retribution was never that simple. Having achieved their goal of rendering him helplessly trapped - much as his nephew had been that fateful night - the team of men had now left him alone to die inside a failing structure. The problem with the scenario though was that Steve was with him and to Danny, that was wholly unacceptable.

"It … _uh_ … it seems bad, Steve," Danny said as he splayed his fingers purposefully over the tourniquet. The wet material around the wound seemed cool and he hoped it meant he'd done right by his sightless triage. "I think the bleeding's slowed though. Can you tell? Does it hurt much?"

"No, it's numb," Steve complained. He pushed himself up higher, his brain clicking back in at an alarming rate. He surveyed their position with a quick astuteness, stunned by the increasing volume of smoke which at least had ample room to waft upwards towards the highest rafters of the skeletal structure. But he saw the orange flicker of flames, too. The fire had taken hold and begun to spread even to the higher levels. Despite that, he could barely see more than a few feet in front of where they sat, and the air was becoming more and more pungent with every passing minute. Making matters worse, in the background, Steve could still hear the damnable generators. They continued to hum merrily along and the high-powered commercial lights were back on, full force. The eerie glow they now cast in conjunction with the flicker of flames was frighteningly ominous.

"What's it look like?" Danny asked nervously as Steve moved his hand aside. Not knowing what to do with that free hand, he clenched his fingers into a tight fist, drilling his nails into his palm. "Steve? Your leg?"

"It's ... good," Steve muttered before he paused again, swallowing hard. He panted heavily, in through his nose and out through his mouth when he gave the belt another sturdy tug. Unable to truly beat back the perpetual feeling of nausea, he coughed and then swallowed hard again, a sour taste lingering nastily in his mouth. With an effort, he aimed a reassuring smile Danny's way. "It looks good, Danno. It sure is tight enough."

"Bullshit," Danny argued, his worry tantamount to everything else happening around them. "You shouldn't be here ... this is my fault ... this is all on me and you shouldn't even be here." Eyes shut, reflexive tears streaming down his cheeks, Danny palmed his forehead in exasperation. He didn't need to see Steve's face to know it was pale, sweat streaked or that his eyes would be filled with an unconcealed pain. Danny could literally hear the pain in Steve's voice or in the way he was trying to breathe so carefully; the pain was right there on the surface.

"Me? Danny ... we'll talk about it later! This is not your fault ... there was nothing you could do to prepare for this!" Steve rasped out in anger. "How the hell could you even guess that Akana ..." He stopped though mid-sentence, his voice dwindling to nothing as a new realization dawned. Then his eyes widened at his ridiculous lapse in memory.

"Oh, God, Danny. Your eyes," he whispered in shock. He grabbed for Danny's fingers nearly crushing the bones in half, his other hand anxiously cupping the side of Danny's neck forcing his head up in order to look fully into his face. "I wasn't _thinking_. Your … _eyes_. Those damned lights!"

It had taken him too long to understand why Danny had asked him how the wound _looked_. Only then did he realize that Danny also hadn't looked directly at him; rather, his eyes were closed and his hands shaking as if he had a palsy. It explained why Danny had been holding his arm up protectively in front of his face, unable to evade Steve's sluggish slaps. While Steve was certainly aware of their situation and certainly aware of his own predicament, he hadn't properly put all the pieces together.

"Can you see me?" Tugging him closer, Steve searched Danny's face to be sure of the obvious. His heart clenched when Danny dared to open his eyes. The blue was glassy, disturbingly shiny and his gaze didn't quite settle on his own. "Danny?" He knew the answer, nonetheless Steve was devastated when Danny merely hung his head again and fought to calm the panic he was beginning to openly communicate. "Can you see? Can you see anything at all?"

There was no reply for the longest time and then Danny slowly shook his head, fear and misery written all over his face. "No. Not a God-damned thing."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Rebecca didn't listen to the advice so sweetly doled out by the 911 Operator, at least not entirely. The woman was gentle and knew exactly what to say to keep the little girl calm. But by fostering that same feeling of resilience, the kind operator managed to reboot the child's brain. As soon as Becca understood that her cell phone signal could be traced by the police and fire departments, she stayed on the phone but started to move.

Reassuring the operator that she'd remain on the phone, Becca flung her backpack onto her shoulders. Then, she cautiously made her way back down to the culvert where she stayed hidden in the shadows until she heard the sirens.

"I hear them now," she whispered to the woman, her eyes trained at the crest of the tertiary road. She was excited now, on edge and nervous, but very excited that help was so close.

" _That's good. So good! Stay on the phone though Rebecca,"_ the operator said. _"Don't stop talking to me until an officer is there with you. Okay?"_

"Okay," she whispered again. "I won't." She left her hiding place though as the sirens got so much louder. Then, when she could see the first glimmer of brightly colored lights, she bravely stood in the middle of the road, chancing a glance down to the ominous routine of the construction building. Anticipating seeing the same thick black clouds of smoke, her eyes widened instead and she gasped out loud.

"It's on fire!" Becca blurted out in horror. "The building ... it's on fire!"

" _Rebecca_?" The operator asked, her tone immediately worried for the little girl's safety. _"Where are you? I told you not to move until the officers had time to get there ... where are you?"_

"On the road. I heard the sirens and now I'm on the road," she admitted. But tears were in her voice, her words once more halting as her brief feeling of bravery was instantly dashed. "I can see the building ... and it's on fire."

 _"Help is on the way, Rebecca,"_ the woman quickly reminded her. _"Don't move from there! Just please ... stay where you are. You've done all the right things; now please, just stay right where you are! Can you promise me that?"_

"Yes," Becca automatically replied, though she was shaking her head to the contrary. She bit her lip to keep her tears from falling, her eyes flying from the sinister sight of the construction building to the leaves of the trees which lined the tertiary road. The leaves were picking up the rotating hue of colors from the emergency vehicles as they drew closer. The reds, golds and blues rotating through the very air like a kaleidoscope.

"They're here," she cried as the first cruiser cleared the low rise of the tertiary road. Behind it she could hear even more sirens. As soon as she was caught up in the high beams of that first cruiser, she waved once to its occupants but then never waited for the vehicle to stop.

Instead, Becca fisted the phone and took a deep breath to will her sobs away before she turned and ran, her sneakered feet flying back down the access road and towards the construction site.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	7. Chapter 7

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Seven**

"Fire. What else would it have been, right?" Danny words were shattered by a sharp laugh, his sarcastic ad lib added to highlight the helplessness of their current situation. A feeling too similar to that of being mired inside his claustrophobic head perked close to the surface. His forehead was rocked against a piece of roughened plywood, Steve's hand seemingly welded to his arm to keep him centered. For all of that though, nothing was really working. A convulsive swallow which lacked enough moisture led to another dry cough made worse by too many rank smells ... and he felt himself sliding. Keeping his eyes tightly wedged shut as a loud fiery pop echoed nearby, Danny completely forgot what he'd been saying.

"How did it go down? What happened to Jay?" Steve urged him for more when he saw Danny start to waffle. "Where was he taken?" He bore his fingers sternly into Danny's skin, creating bruises to keep him on topic.

Being stuck inside the building was one thing to digest. Danny could have coped with _that_ ; even somewhat dealt with Steve still being there with him. Unfair as it was. But losing his sight had pushed Danny much too close to a teetering edge. Every noise was louder and more threatening ... and the fire ... the strong sharp sickly scents of burning plastics and wood-singed smoke had been similarly magnified. He knew what fire could do; he'd seen it too many times and he ... knew. Unable to see, Danny was seriously close to panicking. With Steve's fingers leaving bruises on his arm, he brutally rubbed his forehead into the plywood, the surface scratchy and uncomfortable as small splinters pricked his skin.

"Construction site in Bayonne. They beat him within an inch of his life and then set the place on fire. It wasn't hard … it was hot that night and there were flammables on site," Danny continued quietly, his voice raspy. He was exhausted now - mentally, physically and even emotionally. Attempting to keep him calm, Steve had asked for the specifics on how Jay had been killed and so, he was doing his very best to provide the most pertinent of details.

"The flashpoint … it didn't take much … the whole place was unstable. Jay died … trapped and alone. And for what? So my _partner_ could get a piece of the action? He was just a kid, Steve. And a good kid at that."

"Okay," Steve soothed patiently. He'd purposefully asked about Jaylen Callaghan since Danny was partly there inside his head anyway. Bouncing between the justifiable fear over his jeopardized eyesight and alternately consumed by guilt, getting Danny to talk and focus, no matter where they were and no matter the subject, was simply better. His other purpose was to buy himself time. Steve knew they were going to have to move - and soon - he had needed these last few minutes to gather himself together.

"Okay, I get it but that doesn't have to be us. In fact, it's not going to be us," he said with conviction. "We're getting out of here." Steve doubted he could walk well, but he sure was going to try. Danny seemed assured that Callaghan's men had left the building, the lights now nothing more than a ploy to affect their ability to make a decision; tools to layer doubt on top of fear. Something to paralyze them. However, based on the volume of smoke alone and the rise in the heat factor, they'd be foolish to stay where they were. Not so able, but certainly ready, Steve was more than willing to take the chance to get moving.

"Get me up, Danno," he demanded as he steeled his resolve and grappled for his partner's shoulders. If there was one blessing, Danny might not have been able to see, but he was otherwise unhurt. "Be my legs … I'll be your eyes."

The snorted retort was loud and fraught with incredulity, yet Danny didn't refuse. "That was mighty poetic, Steven," he ground out as he struggled to his feet, pulling Steve's weight up along with him.

"You think so?" Steve puffed out as he hopped on one leg. "Poetic?"

"Yeah, poetic," Danny replied. "You're a regular Shakespeare in a life and death situation. Who knew?" He grunted as he took Steve's weight, head bowed, all ability or desire to speak slowly leaking away. Standing up from behind their limited field of protection seemed so much worse. Standing there, Danny felt more vulnerable inside his new, incredibly small world. Appearing to be completely and uncharacteristically defeated, Danny sighed dismally, the sound ending on a sharp wheezed cough.

"We got this, Danno," Steve whispered, his free hand snaking around the back of Danny's neck where he gave a gentle squeeze. "Trust me. We do." He felt the loss in the way Danny's shoulders remained tightly hunched though and Steve shook his own head to negate it, refusing to give up before it was truly over.

"Come on," he insisted, though he wound up chuffing through a surge of nausea which brought bile up into his throat as he gained his feet and leaned heavily on his partner. His fingers spasmodically scrabbled at the tightly cinched belt and he bit back another sour heave when his leg hung leaden and yet wracked with a fiery ache. "Let's … go," Steve coughed out just before needing to shove a gloved fist into his mouth. He breathed strongly in through his nose, his eyes now closed as the pain refused to abate. He needed to walk, but that first step even with Danny's help, was going to be near crippling. As he struggled to stay alert and simply breathe, in that moment, Steve was glad that Danny couldn't see the likely look on his face.

"Steve?" Danny might not have been able to see Steve's expression, he could without a doubt sense the dire physical changes. He literally heard Steve's inner fight to stay upright proven by the way a cough sounded more like a choked gag.

"Can you do this?" He asked worriedly even though neither of them had much of a choice. They had to. But when Steve still didn't reply, his breathing erratic and noisy, Danny wrapped his arms around Steve's waist sensing a need to keep him upright. "Steve?" Danny cursed softly under his breath when he felt the head to foot tremors, Steve's skin significantly more damp as a cold sweat oozed from his pores. "How bad?"

"It was numb ... before … now … it's not ... so much," Steve eventually panted out each word. "But ... it's not too bad, Danno. Not ... at all." His eyes were still closed as he rallied the dregs of his reserves and slung his arm over Danny's shoulder. "We can do this." The change in position was worse than he'd imagined. And with the pain radiating so deeply into his hip, he could almost sense that the bullet was in the bone. What they were about to do could indeed wind up killing him, nonetheless getting out of there was not up for discussion.

"Don't lie to me, Steve. It's bad ... and it was _never_ numb," Danny griped under his breath. He was beyond worried and moving well into terrified. His voice conveyed his fears as he bowed his head, unable to look Steve in the eye even if he wanted to as his friend privately worked on gathering himself together.

"Danno," Steve said more weakly than he'd hoped. "Just ... shut ... up." The fingers of his left hand were now wrapped around the leather of the belt as if he could ease his pain, and he swallowed hard when his stomach threatened to rebel. He didn't have the energy to argue Danny's last words. And to argue would have been ludicrous because his partner was entirely correct: he was lying. So instead, Steve focused on their current location and where they needed to be; looking around in order to develop a viable plan of action.

"You okay? What are you doing?" Danny asked, finally blindly looking up, his alarm obvious when nothing happened. "What's wrong? Steve?" He fought to find Steve's face and continually failed, completely unseeing of the true physical pain in his eyes.

"Looking ... for the best way ... out," Steve explained distractedly until he truly looked down. He narrowed his eyes practically in annoyance when he saw the self-blame and doubt. "It's not ... your fault, Danno. Besides, now's ... not the time for you to have a ... _'come to Jesus'_ moment."

Danny chuffed an indescribable sound before falling silent again, any normal caustic retort not even remotely near being on the tip of his tongue. Steve's former wisdom of focusing on the powers of positive thought were going to do nothing for him this time and he lacked the wherewithal to bring that old subject up anyway. Of course their current situation was his fault. _It was all his fault._ All of this was _entirely_ his fault. He should have known better. Like Steve had so intelligently noted back in the office, how could someone so low on the proverbial food-chain - such as the likes of poor, old Tua Akana - have known about such a high society murder investigation?

"I'm sorry," Danny blurted out. "I should have listened to you about Tua. I should have known."

"Known _what_ , Danno?" Steve objected angrily, a rush of adrenalin providing enough for his own rant to make an impact. "I didn't exactly fight you tooth and nail ... I made a simple comment! We were obligated to check the lead out; no matter what. Tua's been reliable in the past. Meka trusted him; you trusted him - which means that I also trusted the man, so you tell me how could you possibly have known that anything like this was going to happen? This Callaghan guy wasn't even a nit on our radar! So, as of right now, I'm ordering you to shut the hell up and start walking. Now move ... walk."

"Ordering?" Danny snarked back. "That's ... rude, Steven." He tried to say more and build on a familiar exchange of words, but all motivation had been duly tamped down. When Steve also quieted, Danny simply began shuffling forward as he took a great deal of Steve's weight. Slowly and steadily, one blind step at a time, with Steve as guide, Danny moved them over and around debris and away from the glare of the construction lights. He tripped often, stumbled along the way. Twisting an ankle, torquing a knee. Following Steve's coached instructions, Danny set his jaw and forged on. Each breath becoming an eventual battle as the fumes intensified and pockets of searing heat indicated fire. The building was loud now, too, resenting its eventual demise.

"Shit," Danny mumbled as a loud crack brought with it an even louder rush of sound. He unconsciously ducked his head, shoulders hunched even more. "What ...was that?"

"Nothing," Steve lied. He visibly winced as he stared at where they'd once been though, the entire section of roofing now completely collapsed and engulfed in flames. For a moment, Steve watched the fire intensify, mesmerized by the height of the flames until Danny tripped due to his lapse in commentary, no matter how stilted it was becoming. The mis-step jarred his leg badly and Steve moaned, his vision whiting out in an instant.

"Sorry, sorry," Danny turned into him, stopping and ready to offer support where needed. "Rest?" His muscles were shaking from the physical strain, still he dug in and called on long-depleted reserves. He'd owe himself back later. But that would be later ... much later, because he owed Steve now.

"No, no. We ... got this," Steve corrected Danny when he felt him try to stop. " _Go_ ... don't ... stop." Pain continued to radiate up and down his leg, the worst a constant heated ache inside his hip. Every step, no matter how small or carefully made, was sheer agony. He blinked hard, willing away the dizziness and clearing his eyes from their haze. He needed to pay attention for the both of them, not allow himself to drift.

Through the murky smoke, Danny might not have been able to see but his eyes held a haunted look which Steve didn't like. Danny never answered him, nor did he say a single word as they started their slow journey again. And Steve wished he could say _something_. He wanted to offer some kind of helpful remark that at least Rebecca had truly gotten to safety and that help was already en route. Instead he was forced to abandon those wishful thoughts because he soon found himself hacking uncontrollably. He fought to breathe as a sharp pain in his thigh radiated up to settle a permanent home inside his hip bone. The persistent pain along with a rush of heady sickish fumes was simply debilitating.

"D.?" Steve chuffed questioningly. They had both slowed significantly now. Under the arm he had looped over Danny's shoulders, Steve could feel how Danny was also weakening from fatigue. But he thought he saw something as they made it to the opposite side of the building, north of where they'd first entered.

Sweat coated Danny's face only to collect as a pool at the base of his neck before it continued its path underneath the oppressive tack-vest. Over-heated, out of breath and coughing repetitively, Danny was staggering now, his knees beginning to refuse his load. Eyes closed and resolute, he ignored the creak of his bones to mechanically follow the barked, choked out commands of a single voice. He never doubted the rasped out syllables or the near-strangled noises. And if he faltered, a tug would send him willingly _left_ or _right_ or _straight_ , or a frantic _squeeze_ would warn him to stop at a moments notice to reverse their path. To anything else, he'd become completely oblivious.

" _D_.," Steve coughed harshly, not quite managing even the short letter. He frowned in concentration to confirm that he was indeed seeing a break in the facade where the outside was showing through. A moment later, a faint puff of a pure freshness proved its validity and he dug his fingers into Danny's arm as he tried again. "D. Air."

Danny paused briefly and shook his head, not quite understanding at first. They needed air, that was true enough. Confused and starved for oxygen, he continued his shuffle-walk, toting his partner along until Steve stumbled into him, making them both lurch forward. With a startled cry, Danny lost traction as he was knocked off balance. He tried to save Steve first. Twisting his body in an arc, Danny tried to provide a cushion for the fall, but he was entirely depleted and he only managed half his goal.

"St...Steve?' Danny gasped as a wrecked gurgle of pain sounded in his ear from where they'd both crashed down to their knees. "Steve?" Frantic to understand if the tourniquet had loosened or the bullet shifted inside, Danny clutched at Steve's shoulders when his friend folded nearly in half. He sought Steve's face and then his hands, begging to understand how badly he'd been reinjured.

" _'kay,_ " Steve muttered breathlessly, his complexion now ashen under layers of black soot. " _S'kay,_ " he slurred. He been focused on that spot in the wall and lost his balance, tripping and taking them down. He was far from all right and arguing his body's growing desire to collapse, but his attention was drawn to something of greater value. Urgently tapping Danny's shoulder first, Steve yanked on his arm unable to communicate their need to get up. Along the exterior wall, one of the explosions had sent a beam falling lengthwise down. A gap had been created and while it wasn't perfect, it was a chance. "Fresh ... air. _Air_."

"What?" Danny whispered in confusion, his trust entirely placed squarely on Steve and getting them closer to freedom. He again missed the gist of what Steve meant though until he felt the gentle breeze. A teasing stirring of a blessed coolness which offset the stifling heat and then, he understood - there was a way out. What he felt a moment later was a repeat of that tiny tendril of fresher, cooler air. It flowed over his face and teased his skin as it dispersed the heat and offered hope. It was more than enough to rally his reserves until Steve heard a new sound and thumped Danny's arm again.

"Listen," Steve breathed out excitedly. " _Listen_!" His hands grappled for Danny's shoulders in order to give him a stern shake when he didn't respond. Despite his pain and the way he hung so heavily onto Danny, needing the man's help to be kept merely upright, Steve managed a chuffed out strangled laugh. "Listen! _Becca_!" He hissed raggedly, head cocked towards the outside. He cupped his hand to the side of Danny's cheek, gently turning him to face the damaged facade. " _Them_!"

Whether from relief or from the volume of smoke he'd inhaled into his laboring lungs, Danny felt faint when he finally heard the sirens. His head seemed to wobble on his neck as if in disbelief. _Police. Fire Department. Ambulance._ They were _all_ coming; and all because of Rebecca. Their combined sounds were close and they carried with them a balm to bring Danny a sorely needed boost of confidence to push the terror down. He barely registered the weak but jubilant kiss lobbed on the crest of his soot-stained forehead just before he struggled to his feet.

"Stay," Danny said while he shakily patted Steve's arms, silently begging that his friend not move a single muscle. He lingered for a moment in a half crouch, one hand on Steve's knee. Afraid to break the connection and loathe to leave his side for any number of very valid reasons, but Danny knew what he needed to do.

"D. _Careful_ ," Steve whispered, his warning clear but the last word nearly swallowed within his scratchy throat. They were close to freedom now, but the building was virtually coming down around them; the weakened structure objecting loudly its last dying breaths.

Saving what little breath he had, Danny merely nodded as he finally stood up in order to fumble blindly forward, his hands outstretched as he sought evidence of the opening. Steve's voice was tired, much too weak and wracked with pain. In his mind's eye, he envisioned the worst. They didn't have much time - _Steve_ didn't have much time - and Danny struggled to push those terrible thoughts from his head because they were so, so close now.

Steve sagged forward as Danny left him, shoulders hunched and his wounded leg outstretched. Both his hands were wrapped around the tourniquet, the throb relentless as the grievous wound continued its slow bleed despite their attempt at a basic triage. He felt an obligation to help his partner, but he was physically taxed, all ambition to move gone as they reached a viable wall. Unable to help, Steve latched on to the increasing volume of sounds brought by their able first responders.

Sirens, radios and loud shouts eked in despite the raucous noises of destruction within the failing building and Steve sucked in a weak breath which, this time, never quite cleared his head. He fought to stay awake by watching as Danny struggled forward, ripping his hands on jagged pieces of wood and metal, tripping over what he couldn't see only to gamely get up. Danny's voice was pitiful in its weakness and painful to hear as he desperately tried to call out for help.

Feeling as if he were standing outside his body, Steve watched Danny attack the wreckage, blindly but with a fierce determination for as long as he could. Steve watched until a wave of vertigo swayed his upper body so severely, he literally toppled over with an ungainly flop. Amidst the debris, Steve's hands fell lax and his eyes lost their focus as he abandoned his will to stay awake.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	8. Chapter 8

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Eight**

"Steve?" With his hands now bruised and bleeding, Danny took two steps back and turned to face where he thought he'd left Steve when the firemen told him to back away, axes beginning to fall rapidly to more efficiently increase the size of the rent. A third step sent him stumbling though as his left foot connected with a shattered two by four. The splintered piece of wood caught his heel and sent him flying, his arms wind-milling as he fell to one knee where he decided it safer to stay.

He began his awkward crawl that way, stopping every so often to search blindly with his hands left, right and in front of where he was for a booted foot, hand or piece of fabric. He didn't even consider that what he was doing was smart - staying low out of the worst of the smokey haze - that wasn't his priority. Later, he'd realize that they'd each done themselves a distinct favor. Now, he only wanted to find Steve.

"Steve!" Danny hacked heavily as he tried to project his voice. Anxiety toyed with his mind all over again. To be truthful, it hadn't ever left. He didn't receive a reply though; not the whisper of a word or even a grunt of sound. That was bad and could easily spell disaster because Steve could _see_ him. Steve _should_ well be able to see him unless something were terribly wrong.

" _Shit, shit, shit_ ," each profane word was coughed out into the filth of the floor. Head down and panting, Danny searched with his hands to the left, then the right and then back again. Coughing and panting while he easily guessed the reason behind the frightening silence.

"Steve?" Danny's voice cracked, his terror back as he crawled forward again, desperately patting the ground. His stomach twisting at the thought of what he might find ... if he could find Steve as a crash sounded off to left. The fire was too close and getting much too hot, he winced away from an unseen flash of sparks with a pained hiss. He ignored the threat of fire even when he felt a new intense heat which sent flaming pieces of wood into the air. They stung the backs of his hands, singed the side of his face and peppered his back like small brands.

"Steve!" He called, his throat aching and sore as heat scorched his skin. " _Steve_ ... talk to me! Steve!"

Eyes closed and ignoring the shouted queries from behind him from two firemen who'd breached the wall as their peers continued to make the break bigger, Danny dragged himself forward. He cut his hands on shards of broken glass, fragments of metal and splinters of wood. The same ripping into his knees or snagging onto his clothes, but he eventually found the warmth of a hand. Behind his lashes, Danny felt the tears rising and he allowed them to fall unashamedly. Pushing himself the last few feet, his hands shaking, he reached out to find and touch Steve's face, neck and opposite shoulder.

"They're here," he choked out as he gently righted his fallen partner and eased his upper body into his arms. From where he was now sitting, Danny used his body like a brace, Steve's falling head just under his chin, as the firemen shouted orders to each other. More of their rescuers were inside the fiery building now and coming closer, heavily booted feet treading strongly over the debris with purpose. "Steve? They're ... here. So you hang in there for me ... or, I'll kill ya myself."

With his arms wrapped once more around his friend, Danny dropped his forehead to Steve's left shoulder. He focused on the rise and fall of Steve's chest and on each subtly whistled breath of air. Eyes closed and only willing to half-listen as their rescuers continued to break through the exterior wall en force, Danny simply hung on.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Becca swung her feet nervously from where she sat on the side of the gurney in the hospital's emergency room. Two police officers were keeping her company as a nurse cleaned a bad cut on the palm of her left hand and a similarly deep one on her knee. She'd stopped crying for the time being, but she was still very much afraid. She'd gotten help and had been told that she'd been brave; but she was uneasy. In fact, she likely had saved both Danny and Steve's lives. But so much was simply _bad_. She'd gotten a glimpse of her Uncle Steve at the construction site. He'd been carried out of the building by four firemen, unconscious and barely recognizable. A few seconds later, Danny had also appeared. But he'd been draped over another fireman's shoulder in a carry before being transferred to more waiting hands just outside the large axed-out opening.

That was all she'd been able to see just before she'd been swooped up by one of her current blue-clad guardians, wrapped in a blanket, and bundled into one of the ambulances which had arrived scarcely moments later. Her father had been contacted by then; and she knew that her Aunt and Uncle would have been, too. If not directly by the police, then by her father, and if for some reason he'd been too distraught, the kindly nurses and doctors at Tripler's Medical Center certainly knew who she belonged to.

"Doctor Ramirez. She's scared; has a few cuts and scrapes ... but she's generally fine, sir." A voice outside the curtained cubicle warned her of his arrival first and Becca made a face just before the blue curtains were pushed roughly aside by the intimidating breadth of her uncle. She wondered why he'd gotten there before her father, but then realized that his house was so much closer to the hospital. After all, the senior doctor had worked there for years prior to his retirement. He knew every short cut and would still have some access to the grounds based on tenure and reputation alone.

Her eyes glittered, full of tears again as soon as she looked up into his face. She expected to get instantly reprimanded, instead he just stared back at her. Silent and almost as pale as she was. She'd scared him badly and she bit her lip; _hard_ \- in a useless attempt to stop the sobs from beginning again. Behind him, Becca caught a glimpse of her Aunt, too and she shook her head, her injured hand left palm up on her knee.

"I'm not going," Becca whispered through her tears. Frightened but stubborn, she took a deep breath but another sob cracked her voice in half. "He ... he can't make me."

There was a long nerve-wracking pause before her uncle spoke since he quite simply didn't know what to say to her first. He fought his urges to wring his hands or to shove them into the deep pockets of a white doctor's lab coat which he no longer wore. Instead, he bounced on his toes, agitated and fretting as he tried to figure out what to say first. When he did speak, the doctor even surprised himself.

"Your father's on his way ... and well ... he'll be here any minute," Ponch eventually whispered back as they cautiously regarded each other. "We'll work it out, Sprite," His eyes flickered over her tear-streaked face, studied her bloody knee and then settled on her palm. His unhappy scowl deepened while his chin rocked sternly to the right and he swallowed hard.

"Now, then, let me see your hand." His voice was rough and he frowned at the way it sounded as he gave a dismissive look to the nurse and then the two police officers. When the nurse backed away, Ponch held his hand out, impatiently waiting for his niece to present her injured limb to him. She did so slowly, her eyes never leaving his until he dropped his gaze to study the deep wound.

"Uncle Steve is hurt. Bad ... I think," Becca whispered as her uncle gently probed her fingers. "Please? And ... Uncle Danny ... they both got hurt. Please, Uncle Ponch?"

They stared at each other again, Ponch's big hands cradling her smaller one as she pleaded with him for help. He sniffed back a smile for what she was asking him to do, but the grin managed to brighten the severe look in his eyes just enough. He nodded and her lips trembled in relief when he silently agreed.

"Ellen?" He called his wife to his side then, only the sound of a long drawn out sigh indicating his ongoing argument with his nerves and, truth be told, his own temper. Ponch was angry with his brother's failure to properly handle the situation with his young daughter. For all that Mike doted on Becca, he'd been completely in denial as to why moving State-side would completely devastate the child. But that anger had turned to an unfamiliar feeling of fear once he'd received the unexpected late night phone call. Mike had called him from his downtown apartment, upset and frantic, begging Ponch to make sure his daughter was in her bedroom. Becca had refused to go home with him that night, her own emotions running high. She'd asked to stay with her aunt and uncle until the next morning, and the adults had all agreed in an effort to compromise.

Ponch had of course found an empty room, ground floor window opened wide to the night air. At that point, Mike had blurted something about Steve and a construction site fire. Then, he'd virtually hung up on him, his rush to get to the hospital his newest priority. Then, hearts in their throats, he and Ellen had done the very same thing, arriving first only due to their closer location. Ponch blew out a loud susurrus of air, cheeks puffed out as he gave way to his wife and he had to smile when she anxiously pushed by him. Ellen did nothing more than scoop her niece off the gurney, the little girl seeking solace as she wrapped her arms and legs around her aunt's body.

He stalked away then, familiarity with the emergency room not only calming his anger, but reviving long ingrained habits despite his retired status. "Where are the two officers who were brought in with my niece?" He asked at the nurses station. Ponch didn't have the particulars, not yet. He only knew that Becca had somehow wound up with the Five-0 officers and had been retrieved from the most baffling of locations. He was desperate to know - anxious to talk to his niece in detail. But he needed to bide his time not only because the hospital was too public and Rebecca much too upset, but also to give his brother a chance to discuss things with his own daughter.

"Commander McGarrett? Detective Williams?" Doctor Ramirez repeated at the two nurses seated behind the tall counter. "Who can tell me what's going on? Where each is ... how they're doing?"

"They've just arrived," one replied quickly. "The Commander's in triage five and Detective Williams is in three; they're each being assessed now."

Ponch nodded quickly, opting for the closest room which happened to be Danny's. He entered the room without hesitating, pleased to see a few familiar faces but stunned by the Five-0 detective's appearance. He harrumphed under his breath as he realized that Danny had been unconscious and was coming round under the triage team's diligent care. Covered in soot, there was a distinct odor of smoke. He was decidedly worse for wear; rumpled, mussed and rousing in an agitated manner. His hands flailed sloppily, prevented from removing the specialized oxygen mask by a nurse who quickly snared his wrists as another attempted to evaluate the damage he'd done to his hands. Growing more distressed, he tried to speak, any words he tried to say though were distorted by the mask.

"What do we have?" Ponch demanded without thinking as he took a customary position of authority at the head of the gurney. He earned more than a few stunned glances aimed his way before the primary physician recovered smoothly.

"Doctor Ramirez, it's ... a pleasure. Smoke inhalation seems to be his primary issue at the moment; hence the humidified oxygen," the attending doctor shared. "The responders on site said that he was working on getting himself and his partner out of the building with his bare hands. There are numerous cuts and abrasions that will need debriding - one or two definitely will require suturing."

Over his head, Danny heard the murmured words and sensed the heightened activity. He was the one being discussed and that certainly wasn't what he wanted to hear - while he was upset about his eyesight, his current condition wasn't really the concern. Warm air circulated gently over his nose and mouth; warm and slightly misted. It was comforting and still too much was wrong. Steve. He needed to be able to ask but he couldn't quite get his mouth to cooperate. Eyes still closed as he fought to rally, he first objected the hold someone had on his hands, his protests and questions gaining coherence the more he woke.

" _Where's-he?_ " He slurred, his voice muffled but clearly recognizable under the oxygen mask. "St..Steve? Where _is_ he?"

Ponch glanced to the attending physician in askance, the man mouthing 'shot' and his eyes easily communicating that Steve's condition was significantly of more concern. The retired doctor nodded in understanding as he focused on the younger man who's distress was only growing in leaps and bounds.

"Danny?" A large hand fell on his shoulder at the same time the familiar voice spoke so calmly in his ear. "Danny ... it's Ponch ... I promise that'll I'll check on Steve in just a few minutes. You both only got here a few minutes ago."

"Ponch," Danny breathed out in stunned relief, all argument bleeding out of him in an instant. He opened his eyes, peering up into a persistent darkness; the older man's identity sparking another concern. "Ponch? _Becca_ \- she okay?"

"Right next door and perfectly fine," Ponch shared. "Ellen's taking care of her and Mike's on his way here. We all just found out ... well, we don't have the whole story yet ... but we'll talk later. Let's just handle one crisis at a time. All right?"

"Steve?" Danny asked again, his hands shaking as he rapidly blinked his eyes and still saw ... nothing.

"I promise, I'll check in on him next," Ponch reiterated. "You're in good hands, Danny. We're going to treat the smoke inhalation and take care of your hands; they'll be cleaned up and stitched in no time. While that's being done, I'll check in on Steve and then let you know how he's doing. First though, how are you feeling?"

Danny frowned at the question, the furrows in his forehead deepening in distress. He'd grown increasingly dizzy inside the building and lost consciousness just as the firemen had reached his side. He hadn't had the time to tell anyone about his real ailment - the real issue he was suffering from. He blinked again, then squeezed his eyes tightly shut before re-opening them with the same terrifying result.

Above him, Ponch cocked his head quizzically at the odd changes in facial expression as the detective seemed to blindly stare at the ceiling. With an astuteness born of years of experience, Ramirez raised his hand and waggled his fingers inches above Danny's face. He hummed a concerned sound under his breath just as he caught the attention of his peer. Intentionally, he got in Danny's supposed line of sight and waved his hand again over the detective's face, his own eyes widening in understanding.

"Danny? Can you see me?" Ponch asked carefully. Out of habit, he ran his fingers through Danny's hair, feeling along his scalp and hairline for bumps, bruises or injuries. But he came up empty; there were no obvious injuries to see or to feel.

"No," Danny wheezed out, his throat constricting painfully. He coughed harshly, the warmth of the humidified oxygen at least offering some comfort. Then he was squinting, blinking rapidly and hoping for a change in his vision, but still he saw nothing. "I can't ... see. Ponch, I can't see."

Rendered momentarily speechless, Ponch paused in surprise, his eyes flickering briefly over to the other doctor in absolute confusion. It was clear though that the triage team was equally perplexed and not aware of this very new complaint. The buzz in the room increased exponentially as new orders were quietly discussed and an ophthalmologist was urgently requested to the room "What happened, Danny?"

"Lights," Danny said, his voice raspy from irritation. "Can't see ... bright, bright ... lights. On purpose ... couldn't see. Can't see."

" _Lights_? Flash blindness?" Without missing a beat, Ponch hissed a noise under his breath, clearly disturbed by this newest revelation. "Are you in pain?"

"No," Danny rasped, his voice fading too something above that of a murmur. "Just ... can't see ... commercial lights ... on purpose."

"Okay, okay," the big doctor soothed as he worked at getting his head around this very unexpected news. Knowing the information would be critical to his care, Ponch donned his professional mantle to uncover even more critical details. "All right. I need to ask you a few questions, Danny. Can you tell me how long you were directly exposed to the light? A few seconds? A few minutes? How long, Danny?"

There were several seconds of silence as Danny tried to remember and come up with a realistic time frame. "First ... maybe ... thirty seconds."

"The first time!" Ponch exclaimed in surprise and much more loudly than he intended. He was stunned though that Danny had been exposed a single time, let alone even more than that. "And ... then?"

"Longer ... maybe," Danny said. He coughed heavily, so hard, he needed to pause again. He felt Ponch's hand seeking to anchor him and offer support. Still, he couldn't help gagging, the concussive force making his lungs ache. Panting uncomfortably, he closed his eyes, tears streaming down to pool almost in his ears before the moisture absorbed into the thin pillow. His words were stuttered and short ... as he fought to breathe more normally. "Could've been ... forty-five seconds ... maybe ... a minute? Not sure ... dunno. _Dunno_ ... Doc."

Ponch couldn't promise Danny that he'd be fine; he simply didn't have enough information yet. Plus, ophthalmology wasn't even close to being a specialty he was knowledgeable of. But he could do his best to reassure his friend and so he did his best. "This is what we're going to do, Danny," the ex-Tripler physician calmly explained. He leaned in close, his hand once more on the detective's shoulder, his voice steady. "You're in very good hands, Danny. My friend here is going send you for a scan just to make sure that there's not more to this sight issue than those bright lights. Then I expect he'll want to flush them before getting an ophthalmologist to examine you further, okay? But it's good ... it's good that your eyes don't hurt ... that much I do know."

"Okay," Danny coughed harshly. He felt sick from the smoke inhalation and his chest hurt; however, he felt undeniably better with a friendly face in the room even he couldn't quite see the elder man. Then, his next worried question was addressed even before he could voice it and he almost smiled. However, he simply had nothing left to offer. Stressed and sick, he could only murmur his thanks as he permitted his care to continue.

"You're in good hands," Ramirez repeated as he gave Danny's shoulder a gentle pat. "I'll go check on Steve ... I'll check on Steve and then be back. Don't worry, Danny. Try not to worry."

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	9. Chapter 9

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Nine**

Danny rested his head on his arm, face buried despite the uncomfortable way the sunglasses pinched the left side of his temple. The coarseness of the fabric on his hospital gown rubbed against the small scabs forming on his cheek where fiery sparks had caused a minor freckle of burns. He didn't care about either of those things. He had a headache and wanted to sleep, undisturbed, for at least a week. But not yet. Not until he knew that Steve was okay and that their attackers had been caught.

He was sitting in a wheelchair in the surgical intensive care unit as close to Steve's bedside as possible. His arm was on the side of the mattress, head buried with his elbow just touching his partner's. He was relatively comfortable that way and even beginning to doze until he felt the warning tickle coming on. His doctor wanted him in bed, on oxygen and resting. He'd mostly compromised - at least on the oxygen part and being somewhat off his feet. Danny picked up his head, the thin line of a nasal cannula following him as he wearily sat back in the chair, his arms flopping to the side and the white bandages on his hands now showing freely. A box of facial tissues was also perched in his lap. He stayed that way and fought the urges - another major faux pas per his doctor's prescribed regimen - until the coughing began in earnest.

With a newly practiced ease, he gingerly snagged tissues between thumb and forefinger. Tissue after tissue soon fell into the garbage pail next to the left wheel of his chair as he miserably hacked up wads of dusky phlegm. He went through the process with his eyes closed, breathlessly wheezing until the spasm abated. Fighting a feeling of nausea, he dabbed at the spate of tears he'd caused himself with a clean tissue, moving the sunglasses to the side just enough. Then, he was searching with his fingers back along the side of the mattress for that one spot where he could once again pillow his aching head in the side of his arm.

"Detective Williams?" He groaned softly into the mattress as one of the ICU nurses snuck up on him. She'd no doubt heard his loud paroxysm. "Enough is enough ... you're due for another chest x-ray anyway. We need to make sure your lungs are improving."

"Five minutes," he whispered, his voice hoarse from a persistent sore throat. "Just ... five."

"Two minutes," she argued back a bit too brightly. "The ophthalmologist wants to recheck your eyes, too." She didn't approve and he didn't blame her; if she knew how he was really feeling, she'd put her foot down a bit more firmly and even call in reinforcements. However, he felt her leave.

His vision was already returning. Whether his eyes were opened or closed, annoying floater-like images shadowed and impeded his vision; nonetheless, he could easily identify people and objects now. Though he still wondered about the truth of it, he'd escaped serious injury. The bright light had oversaturated his retinas, made worse by an already dim environment since his eye hadn't the time nor ability to react properly. He'd be fine in just a matter of hours, but until then, the sunglasses gave him some protection from the ambient light in the hospital.

Both Kono and Chin had been at the hospital and then gone again with the woefully small amount of information which Danny had been able to provide. Tua Akana. The remote location and the names of Tom Callaghan and Jaylen Callaghan, the only two to add to the abysmal likes of Rick Peterson. Neither he nor Steve had seen their attackers and only one voice had been shared within the confines of the construciton site. A simple discussion with Rebecca Ramirez was little help. She'd barely seen the car leaving the site and not even how many were inside the vehicle.

In short, they currently had nothing and Danny was teetering on an edge of madness once Callaghan learned his men had failed. Had they left the Island? Would they return if they had to finish the job? Feeling helpless and until they knew more, Danny had no desire to leave Steve's side. Even though Steve had woken in the post surgical recovery ward, that hadn't been good enough. They were in a military hospital and that still simply wasn't good enough. Nothing would be good enough until Danny spoke to Steve personally and so, he had zero motivation to leave his partner's room.

Unbeknownst to Danny though, Steve had heard the entire conversation, brief as it may have been. A bit slow on the uptick and coming to a realization that he'd a headache bordering on the magnitude of a migraine, he was slowly chewing through words like _x-ray, ophthalmologist,_ and _eyes_.

"D?" Steve murmured worriedly, the puff of sound just audible enough for Danny to pick up on.

Danny's head swung up blindly, his fingers instantly on Steve's arm, searching to be sure. He felt Steve's hand rise and so he fumbled for his fingers, ignoring the bandages on his own hand, his smile beaming an instant later. He squinted, peering carefully through his lashes, relieved when Steve's head slowly turned his way. "Steve? Hey ... you're awake?"

Steve blinked his eyes, frowning for all he was worth as he blearily examined Danny's face. He saw the relieved smile, but he also saw the irritated rash on his cheeks, the exhaustion ... and the black-framed sunglasses. "Danny?" He whispered breathlessly, his voice hollow behind the oxygen mask.

"You nearly ... died," Danny blurted. His eyes were opening and closing rapidly behind the glasses, his grin was still weirdly in place though. He tried to talk, his description rendered down into snippets of key information as he panted and fought the urge to cough. "Damned ... bullet ricocheted ... angle ... low to high ... the slug settled in lower ... lower back. Surgery ... hours ... and then, then your ... leg ..."

He stopped then needing to hack, the interruption making his eyes tear badly, his lungs unable to cope with the stress of a prolonged conversation. His head ached with a vengeance and it took him forever to regain some semblance of self-control. During all of which, Steve waited, his alarm growing as Danny's face turned beet-red, the sunglasses literally falling off in the process.

"Shit ... D?" Steve croaked. His own throat was sandpaper dry and severely irritated. He, too, coughed sporadically as the effects from the smoke inhalation toyed with his system. Tentatively, he reached out his hand finding Danny's once his friend's coughing spasm had eased enough. He made a raspy sound in his throat to convey his distress at the thick bandages encasing Danny's palm, a similar dressing on the opposite hand.

"Fine," Danny chuffed, eyes resolutely closed, while tears continued to roll down his cheeks. One-handed, he found the sunglasses and fumbled them back on, his smile now reassuring. "Getting ... better. You?"

Steve stared at Danny completely unconvinced despite the grin which was seemingly permanently plastered over his friend's face, until it wavered. Then the smile was gone, replaced by a frown. Impatient and desperately needing to know how he felt ... Danny had been waiting ... apparently for quite some time based upon the brief conversation overheard as Steve woke. The wave of a bandaged hand to take in Steve's leg and Danny's equally pensive squeeze of his fingers was almost scolding and Steve managed a lop-sided grin smile of his own. So, he paused long enough to take stock of his own woes. His leg and an area near his hip felt heavy, thick, but were generally pain free. Instinctively, he knew better than to try and move though, knowing that even a simple shift of his weight in the bed would wreak havoc on a tenuous, comfortable state.

"Not ... bad," Steve replied, another squeeze demanding absolute confirmation. He was understandably weary and weak, had the same lung irritation as his partner, nonetheless decidedly better than he'd been since he could last remember being inside the smoldering building. "Yeah, it's not bad ... but, how ... are your eyes?" He couldn't help changing the subject despite Danny's murmur of annoyance.

"Danno?" His fingers shook free from Danny's bandaged hand and Steve forced the glasses off, sloppily using two fingers. He tapped the frame hard making the stem swing off Danny's right ear when it got snared there. Then Steve didn't know what to think or to say as Danny opened his eyes. Eyes which were pale blue, swimming in tears, glassy and not entirely focusing on him.

"Good. I'm ... good," Danny repeated calmly to negate Steve's shuddered inhale of breath. "Promise. Can see ... _more_." He blinked rapidly, moisture dripping down his cheeks, head cocked at an odd angle for a hazy look at Steve's face partly covered by the outline of the oxygen mask. He smiled because he could mostly see Steve's features now, but even blurred as they were, he didn't need to speculate at what he couldn't quite yet see: the bounty of concern clearly aimed his way no matter the fact that Steve's own leg could have been blown off. But Steve was finally awake and that's what Danny needed to be assured of; now he could rest.

"Daniel?" Steve forgot his internal advice and shifted worriedly as Danny zoned out and quieted, a deep ache warning him of attempting anything else. He watched as Danny tiredly closed his eyes and put the glasses back on. His face was lined with stress and exhaustion despite the ongoing damnable smile. He only calmed more when Danny almost patronizingly nodded, any further discussion curtailed as he swallowed hard and carefully tried to clear his throat. It was clear that they shouldn't be trying to talk and maybe they didn't have to at that point. Steve could easily guess that Danny's eyes were incredibly light sensitive. And if he had a headache the size of Kansas due to smoke inhalation, there was little doubt that Danny had the same times ten. In fact, it was undoubtedly much worse based on the deeply furrowed, pinched forehead.

"Okay," Steve dared to breathe out, his eyes flitting up to catch the very pleased smile of the same nurse who'd just visited a few minutes earlier. When she placed a soothing hand on Danny's shoulder, her smile genuine and entirely reassuring, only then did Steve truly relax, too.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	10. Chapter 10

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Ten**

Danny literally crawled into his hospital bed after seeing Steve and he snorted wryly at his mental use of the word. Seeing? In reality, he hardly actually _saw_ Steve, but that visit had been enough. Somewhere along the way, the nurse had slightly altered his course for the promised chest x-ray, too. He was so exhausted after that side trip and his head was pounding so badly, he didn't dare even try to think anymore. He even happily accepted the strong pain medication, eyes closed and already dozing as his nasal cannula was switched out to an oxygen mask, the nurse tutting in a valid annoyance over his low oxygen saturation levels. He never knew that Doctor Ramirez had arrived in the interim, poking his head round into his room before silently entering. The retired doctor smiled winningly at the nurse, compelled to check on each of his friends' conditions. Already having fallen into a deep sleep, Danny missed the entire conversation of which he was the center of attention.

"Prognosis?" Ponch asked, an eyebrow raised questioningly as he heard the soft whistle and wheeze on each of Danny's exhales. To his ear, Danny's chest sounded tight, strained - potentially something which indicated the advent of a potential issue.

"He just had a follow-up chest x-ray," the nurse confirmed. "Results are pending; some of his coughing spasms have been severe and his 02 levels are lower than they should be right now. He finally admitted to not feeling very well and I've advised his doctor."

"He's also exhausted," Ponch commented with a bland raising of an eyebrow. "I daresay, they both are." The rest of his internal recitation he kept private, because as he'd been told by Chin Ho Kelly, the individuals responsible still had yet to be apprehended. He'd also been brought up-to-date on both Steve and Danny's recent schedule related to a case which had kept them both on the go for days on end. In fact, their meet that night had purportedly been related to said case and so, they'd gone out of a sense of duty. Yet, these very circumstances only contributed to their medical challenges - what they hadn't needed either, was little Rebecca Ramirez as an added stressor. The Ramirez family was at wits end themselves; confused, torn and walking on eggshells. Though everyone agreed that Becca's inadvertent participation had been serendipity for the two Five-0 partners, her actions did little to settle the family's nerves. And Ponch didn't need to remind himself that his niece's actions were directly the result of his brother's decision to relocate for a much better job opportunity. On paper, the decision was wise and the job a compliment. It was indeed, very good and Mike would be a fool not to pursue the offer. It would be the career boost he so sorely needed to truly get back on his own two feet after losing so very much. But Seattle? The round robin thought process instantly prodded Ponch into an ill humor.

"How's Rebecca, Doctor Ramirez?" The nurse asked, a pleasant smile on her face. He chuffed a conciliatory sound and nodded in reply at first, easily reading that the woman was being overly inquisitive. News had traveled far and wide and the woman did have a valid concern, as had the police when they'd all been questioned. After all, why ever would his beloved eleven year old niece have been where she was that night?

"A few superficial cuts and bumps," he finally offered. "She's at home ... with her father."

"It's a good thing she showed up when she did," the nurse coyly noted, her intent to find out more now perfectly clear. "A bit ... lucky."

"Quite," Ramirez said, his eyes narrowing in annoyance and his face hardening in anger. The subject was decidedly touchy and off limits to anyone but whom he considered family. He turned on his heel after a final glance towards Danny, his demeanor curt and tenable in his opinion. He ignored the stammered apology as he stalked away, his mood now foul at best. His next stop would be the surgical intensive care unit to check in on Steve because Becca had admitted one key thing. Her escapade to see Steve in the first place was because she felt he would listen to her and _understand_. The retired doctor didn't know what he wanted to say to the Five-0 Commander and he doubted that Steve would even be up to having a discussion, nonetheless he'd been drawn there.

Walking briskly, the aging doctor found his way to the ICU. He bristled slightly when his presence was questioned, his rebuttal that he was there as _friend_ and not physician. But too many habits were ingrained and Ramirez required answers based in sound medical facts. After getting most of what he wanted, he soon found himself bouncing inanely at the foot of Steve's hospital bed, perturbed by the pale complexion and somewhat displeased. The operation had been delicate and taken time. Opinion had been clarified that a ricochet had caused the damage, but the projectile had traveled deep enough to embed within bone. Steve would be on a regimen of intravenous antibiotics for a number of days. He wouldn't be permitted to put any weight on that injured leg either, eventually needing both physio and occupational therapies to regain proper use of the limb. In short, recovery would be long and painful; a definite trial for the normally active and ambitious younger man.

"Steve?" Ramirez softly called, unsure if Steve was awake or asleep. He smiled warmly when Steve's eyes opened, his awareness obvious. "I'm not going to ask you to talk ... I was just checking in to see how you were doing ... and to apologize."

"Hey," Steve replied in a whisper. He blinked in surprise at the doctor's comments, but then shook his head for an entirely different reason. He had his own questions to ask now that the man had arrived. "Becca?"

Ponch smiled, a confusingly sad and yet pleased expression on his face. "She's good, Steve. Home with Mikey and resting; just a few scrapes and bumps."

"Good," Steve breathed out on a soft whisper of sound. His voice was faint as he intentionally worked at not stressing his throat or lungs. "Saw D?" He asked carefully, correctly assuming that Ponch would have asked or even seen his partner.

"I stopped in to see him on the way up, but he was sleeping quietly," Ponch soothed him. "His eye-sight's steadily improving and results are pending on follow-up chest x-rays. I'll see if I can find anything out before I leave tonight."

"Doin' rounds, Doc," Steve chuffed cautiously around threat of a cough, his eyes briefly twinkling for the doctor's benefit. "Careful ... there." He waved a demonstrative finger at the older man's nose as if reprimanding him for overstepping his bounds inside the hospital where he no longer worked. Regardless, Steve was thankful for the added reassurances, his intentional antics making Ramirez laugh and the doctor briefly lost the seriousness in his eyes.

"Tell me," he rasped out questioningly. "Apologize?" Steve frowned to further his import, one hand waving once though the air to indicate his confusion about needing or wanting apologies. He stared at the big doctor, a bit perplexed by the obvious state of agitation which returned so quickly. Based on the doctor's ongoing fidget, there was a problem and to avoid speaking, Steve's expression clearly demanded clarification.

"For Becca," Ponch began there as he heaved in a big breath of air in a vain attempt to settle his nerves. "I owe you a bit of an explanation for why she did what she did." He didn't know what he was going to say though and for a moment his brain refused to provide any words at all. He'd rehearsed nothing in fact. Yet, this seemed as good a place as any to start; it was just what to say first that momentarily baffled his tongue.

"She's ... the reason ... we're ... here," Steve ground out around the rough cough which finally broke free. His decision to speak which resulted in the spasm earned him an accusatory glare from Ramirez and Steve had to grin despite his discomfort. As he regained his composure, Steve's steadier breaths under the specialized oxygen mask eventually served to appease the big doctor and he continued his explanation.

"Be that as it may, there are reasons as to why she was looking for you last night," Ponch continued on, each word gaining momentum and feeling as his own personal sense of distress increased. In a futile attempt to remain on an even keel, he wrung his hands together before forcing them behind his back where he clasped them tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"Mike's talking about getting a new job. A new job ... in Seattle ... it's a significant promotion for him. He'd be able to save up for the future and get himself back on his feet. He'd be able to make a solid investment in Rebecca's future. But Rebecca's taken the news rather hard. We've all taken it very hard and she ran away ... she ran away to see you and I guess it all makes sense since you're the first person she trusted ... here ... when you found her ... and brought her back to us. She's admitted to sneaking out of her bedroom last night ... that same night we all argued ... she made her way to you and got into the truck where she hid there. I swear, that child is too canny and too fearless for her own good sometimes."

Steve carefully breathed in the warm oxygen circulating over his nose and mouth. Though he was incredibly surprised about Mike's decision, Steve's eyes crinkled from a soft smile as he listened to Ponch talk about his niece. Truth be told, though the circumstances and her impulse to run away were definitely issues up for discussion, her trust in him made him feel good. She could have gone anywhere and she'd chosen a friendly face. He chuffed another noise under his breath for the latter half of what her distraught uncle was sharing. A sound that was somewhat amused and somewhat admiring of her ability to keep her head under pressure. Canny? Definitely. And as for fearless ... Becca had been petrified that night, yet she'd kept her cool when it mattered and he was duly impressed with the resourceful eleven year old.

"Good ... kid," Steve rasped out. He held out his hand towards Ponch, suddenly aware that the older man also needed to vent to someone who'd understood. Another part of the man's speech revealed how upset they all were with the news. Ellen and Ponch had money; they were established in the community and could help care for Rebecca, too. They held no qualms for being there for Mike either and the extended family unit was indeed a happy whole. But Mike wanted to stand on his own two feet and though it pained him terribly, Ponch was desperately trying to respect his brother's wishes.

Unlikely tears glistened in the retired doctor's eyes as Steve warmly grasped the strong fingers. He'd never assumed that the doctor might need him one day and Steve was truly touched again by the trust. In fact, Ponch seemed to realize that at the same moment and he bit back a wry watery chuckle at what suddenly seemed to be the true reason behind his visit.

"Thank you," Ponch muttered gruffly. There were tears in his voice that he didn't even try to hide as he cleared his throat. "Now wasn't really the time I guess to say all of this. But when is it really? Besides, I wanted to see you and Danny; I needed to make sure you were both all right."

"Yeah," Steve pushed out hoarsely, a few soft coughs sounding on the heels of the raspy sound. He nodded once to communicate his understanding and to express even more. That he'd certainly speak to Rebecca when the time was right and help where he could. He was tired, but inordinately pleased. There was also a great deal of peace knowing that the older man was there, too, checking in on both him and Danny. Someone astute enough to ask the right questions and act as advocate should they need it; unlikely as that role of advocate might be within the walls of the fine hospital. But as the doctor left him to get badly needed rest, Steve found himself mentally comparing Rebecca's circumstances to his own.

So many years ago, his father had needed to make significant changes for his children's sakes. While the reasons were entirely different, the desire to keep his children safe and to offer them a better future were driving factors. Mike merely wanted the same for Rebecca. But Steve clearly remembered the feelings of betrayal, anger and loss fobbed upon both him and his sister when they were forced into new living arrangements. At the time, they felt that the changes were unfair, completely uncalled for and ... in short ... ridiculous methods to keep them from the ones they loved. They hadn't understood their father much like Rebecca didn't understand Mike's motivations now. With a careful sigh as a wheeze in his chest threatened to worsen, Steve closed his eyes to sleep. When the time was right and if Becca were still wiling to talk, he'd do his best to help.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	11. Chapter 11

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Eleven**

_"Bring my favorite shorts,"_ Steve said. _"The beige ones."_

"They're all your favorite ... and they all seem to be ... _beige_ , too, babe," Danny retorted calmly as he pawed his way through Steve's raised wardrobe. He paused, snorting in amusement under his breath for the neatly folded array of beige and khaki colored clothes. "Of which ... beige is a non color anyway ... Hey! Haven't you ever heard of the color wheel?"

 _"Danno. Please,"_ Steve complained. He was anxious to leave the hospital and get home. Something which Danny definitely could sympathize with even if he'd been released a short forty-eight hours of being admitted.

Much to Steve's consternation, Danny's release had been granted a good number of days before his. The time had allowed Danny to pursue a few leads with the other half of their mobile team. Chin had learned the most about Callaghan's plans, including the orchestration of a definite threat against Rick Peterson. But neither he nor his men could actually be located, leaving Five-0 little recourse. Even Kono's varied skills and growing network of contacts led nowhere. No one had seen Tua Akana that fateful day; no one had seen the old Hawaiian at all. Evidently what was so much part of the daily landscape, didn't always get missed. No one ever really had paid much attention to the old Hawaiian, therefore, in the end, no one had really even missed him. Things became quiet; perhaps even too quiet.

So with nowhere to go and no one to chase down, the team at first stayed on high alert, constantly looking over their shoulders and wondering what - if anything - might go down next. Left to muddle through similar gaps in information, the only subsequent action which local prison authorities could implement was the move of Peterson to solitary for his own protection. But even these plans were growing lax as days became longer and nothing of note happened. An opinion was slowly dawning that Tom Callaghan might have given up and moved on. In any case, it was fair to believe that the mobster wouldn't try anything again so soon after this initial failure. Certainly not on Danny's home turf for a second time. Therefore, on that quiet sunny morning, Danny was at Steve's house, his intent to gather his recovering partner from the hospital. A simple trip from point A to point B, then back to Point A; house to hospital and back again once more to tuck the man into his over-used couch.

"Aye, aye Captain," Danny chuckled lightly, his cell phone pressed to his shoulder to keep it balanced while he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. Only to then arbitrarily select the top pair which he tossed sloppily into the open duffel bag. "One pair of non-color shorts are now duly stowed in your pack. We'll discuss your _Army_ -induced camouflage issues later."

 _"Daniel,"_ Steve chuffed out, the laugh more than evident in his tone. _"Just bring me my damned clothes!"_

Danny ended the call, smiling and humming to himself as he ransacked Steve's bedroom, adding in two extra pair of shorts at the last minute, two t-shirts and slippahs for good measure. Intent on making sure Steve would have what he needed to escape the hospital that sunny afternoon, he never heard the front door open or snick so quietly closed, after two men eased in.

As he traipsed down the staircase, Danny was still humming under his breath, the sound occasionally interrupted by a sporadic cough now and then. He stopped at the bottom, the hum ending with a soft curse as he hacked heavily for a few seconds, his face blotchy until he was able to calm his still iffy lungs. Then, he strode into the kitchen, dropping the duffel bag in the doorway and his cell phone on the counter. Dabbing at his eyes, he paused only to investigate the meager contents of the refrigerator, his mental checklist growing, when the muzzle of the silencer was unexpectedly pushed into his right temple.

"Don't move," the man's voice purred from over his right shoulder. "Don't ... even ... breathe."

"Shit!" Danny muttered, eyes wide in stunned surprise. Still, he froze in place as instructed, despite his inability to control the reflexive shock as it visibly rippled through him from head to foot.

"Sometimes you simply have to do the job yourself," Tom Callaghan whispered nastily into his ear. "It's the only way to get it right. Don't you think, Detective?"

A cold, cold spike dropped directly into the pit of his stomach at the sound of the man's voice and Danny felt his stomach plummet. It was if he'd been doused with a bucket of ice water without even needing to turn around to prove the man's identity. Stuck in place, with his head still inside the open refrigerator, Danny's face drained of all color as Callaghan caressed the line of his cheek with the gun.

"Put your hands behind your back," Callaghan ordered as an overly pleased chuckle slipped from his lips. "And hurry up about it. Places to go and all that."

"I'm expected ... " Danny began to object, then was silenced by a hard blow to the side of his head. Callaghan didn't stand on ceremony as he balled his fist to thwack the gun into his head. Danny reeled in place, his knees wanting to sag but his own anger spiking to keep him on his feet. He used the door to stay upright, blinking wildly and hissing through his teeth as blood welled instantly from the bruising gash. He tried to turn around out of instinct but was grabbed by the back of his neck, a shadow to his left proving Tom Callaghan was most definitely not alone.

"Somewhere?" Callaghan finished rudely for him. He grabbed Danny by the back of his shirt, yanking him off balance as his lackey slammed the refrigerator door closed. With a loud oomph, Danny found himself shoved face first up against the front of the freezer, his opposite cheek now bruised while his wrists were roughly zip-tied behind his back. The second man was close, nearly on top of him to keep him trapped between his body and the appliance, allowing Callaghan the luxury of frisking him.

"Don't try anything," the second threatened him, his breath wafting warmly across Danny's face, bringing a foul odor with it to turn his stomach. Bad enough, Danny had to bite his tongue from voicing a caustic remark as Callaghan patted down each of his legs. Still, he found himself wanting to hold his own breath to avoid the persistent whiff of stale garlic and rot.

Danny watched as his weapon was plucked from his belt, along with his smaller backup. His badge and wallet followed suit where they were tossed offhandedly to the counter next to his cell phone. With a laugh, Callaghan waved his own gun though the air, his hands adding import to his sense of achievement. His voice sang out loudly, sing-song and entirely sarcastic, his confidence high and making Danny swallow hard for the preparations his cocky attitude implied.

"I'm sure you're expected somewhere and I'm sure whomever is expecting you will be _oh so disappointed_ when you don't show up. And before you say it, yeah I know I won't get away with this ... yadda yadda. I've heard it all before, Detective. It's old and frankly, I'm ... tired and between you and me ... yeah, I _will_ get away with it because people never see what's right under their very noses."

Danny was spun around fast, a strong hand now at his throat by Callaghan's goon. He choked as the fingers purposefully tightened, all too happy it seemed to continue that task as he wheezed heavily.

"Open," Callaghan sneered. Danny's eyes grew large when he saw the thick wad of fabric and the duct-tape which the mob-boss held in his hand. He sniffed almost too happily when Danny blatantly refused, granting him a reason to wedge his fingers into Danny's jaw hinges. Fighting through the pained whine which soon became a gagged choke, Danny lost the battle as the cloth was ruthlessly shoved nearly down his throat. He shook his head trying to displace the material with his tongue, the fear growing in his eyes as duct-tape was placed over his mouth and then wound around his head. Nostrils flaring as he fought to breathe, Danny shook his head again as he was forced to stumble towards the lanai doors. He fought harder when he saw it, wrists straining against the zip ties when he _saw_ the new addition to Steve's lanai. The large patio storage container didn't belong there. More commonly used for garden tools, children's toys or even extra folding chairs, Steve didn't have one ... didn't need one ... never did ... this was new and meant for ... _him_.

 _No way!_ Danny put the brakes on firmly, heels digging uselessly into the floor, his objections muffled as he was ruthlessly dragged out through the French doors. He continued his fight, giving Callaghan and his man the best battle he could until a powerful punch found his solar plexus. Danny sagged almost immediately as all the air was pushed out though his nose. Unable to recover, a sweeping kick had him crashing to the ground, while a knee dug sharply into his lower back to send him down to his stomach. Pinned in place, he struggled against a battle already lost as first his ankles were duct-taped together, then his knees. Sweating profusely and begging in terror through the gag, Danny stared in horror from Callaghan's leering face to the plastic storage container, the top of which was now open on its study metal hinges. He couldn't be serious ... the man couldn't seriously believe that he could put him inside the damned thing?

"Ingenious isn't it? For just one hundred bucks and a trip to the local hardware store, anyone can buy a portable _coffin_ ... weatherproofed even," Callaghan crooned as he watched Danny uselessly flounder on his stomach, the only sounds those of his marked distress made deeply in his throat. "For another twenty bucks, it even comes with a padlock to protect its precious cargo."

 _No, no, no!_ Danny shook his head again. Pleading and begging with his eyes, the choking started as his lungs failed to gain benefit from his bout of adrenalin and their slim hold on not having enough oxygen kicked in. Danny slammed his eyes closed as his body rebelled and his abused lungs seized. His muffled gags and coughs, wheezed deeply in his chest; the only air he could garner through his nose. He whined as his throat rattled painfully, his vision dwindling to gray as he began to suffocate.

"Huh ... still not healed up from the fire I see," the mobster calmly noted. "And I'd heard it was your eyes which had taken the brunt of things. But this ... this is infinitely more interesting."

He'd crouched down to watch, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet. Evidently enthralled by Danny's reddened face, the heated sweat which drenched his skin, and the ongoing fight worsened by a basic need to simply breathe. Callaghan watched in awe as Danny thrashed weakly, bound too tightly to do more than desperately twitch where he lay. Fists balled behind his back, the tension in his neck made the veins pop alarmingly. The fight went on for what seemed like minutes until he eventually stilled, his hands falling lax and the detective now barely conscious. However, his chest continued to heave while his weakened lungs fought to bring in desperately needed oxygen, his eyes only partly open and unfocused in abject exhaustion.

"Boss?" Callaghan's second was still standing by the portable storage box. He was indeed the same man who'd been part of the pair who'd taken Tua Akana so many days earlier. Unfazed by the detective's physical plight, his only interest was doing what his powerful boss wanted.

"Let's get him inside," Callaghan ordered as he smoothly stood tall. He toed Danny hard in the ribs, earning a low moan in return and he smiled before hooking his foot under the prone man's chest. He lifted and then kicked Danny over so he lay on his back, eyes still wedged shut as he breathed noisily through his nose.

In a daze, Danny felt himself lifted into the air. He thought he'd nothing left to fight with until he was lowered into the storage box and he realized what was happening. Then, his panic set back in earnest. The truth was enough to rouse him more and he tried to resume his fight. At his head though and utterly unperturbed, Callaghan shoved Danny onto his left side, while the other man folded his legs to fit. With just inches to spare, Danny rallied, his fingers scrabbling behind his back and his body trying to jackknife in the small space. Desperately fighting, he tried anything to sit up though he was easily kept in place by his bindings and the men's combined strength.

"I'm not failing this time," Tom Callaghan promised as he shoved Danny down one final time before he slapped the storage box's lid closed and threaded the padlock through the heavy-duty metal latches. He smiled to himself when he heard the distant, plaintively keened sounds from inside, the lock clicking home though the container's new contents certainly had no hope in hell of escape.

Job done, Callaghan looked at the bright blue sky and sighed happily as muffled grunts and very faint thumps barely sounded from inside the container. The box was a thick, sturdy composite and its cargo tightly bound. If he took two purposeful steps away, he was sure that he'd not hear nor see anything wrong. Besides, the sea birds and the ocean itself provided more than enough sound to counter anything which might emanate up. Still, Callaghan experimented with that theory by backing away and turning his ear intentionally towards the container. He waited for a few minutes and then nodded in satisfaction. If the detective was struggling or trying to shout, he certainly couldn't hear it himself.

"Do you hear anything?" Callaghan asked his second. A one-sided sneer providing validation when then the man shrugged and shook his head no.

"Nothing, boss," he answered honestly. "I don't hear a single thing."

"It's another beautiful day in paradise," Callaghan remarked casually as he blithely changed the subject. He'd been on the Island since the fire. Directly under everyone's noses, he'd watched the authorities, gathered intel and happily bided his time until people forgot just enough. With a number of new resources at his disposal, he'd acted on a peaceful sunny day when the detective merely had an errand to run.

"I'm not sure why I never bothered to vacation out here before," he added for good measure. "It _is_ absolutely beautiful."

There wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was already approaching eighty-five degrees. The strength of the sun felt good and Callaghan inhaled the fragrant air with a happy sigh as he stretched tall and long. He was the picture of calm ease. Yet, he was thinking; stuck in his thoughts about the detective who now lay at his feet with no hope in hell of escaping this particular trap. The heat inside the storage box would increase quickly and the detective was still decidedly ill. He'd either suffocate or ... succumb to the heat ... or, both. And because this was a necessary part of retribution for Jay's murder, Callaghan didn't care how his death was achieved anymore. It was only important that it _would_ as he shielded his eyes with the side of his hand to peer at the sun and did the math in his head.

"Should I get the truck now?" His man asked, keys tossed idly in the palm of his hand. "Just wheel him out like we planned? Dump him ... out near that empty lot ... get on to the airport?"

"Well, I don't think we have to go through all of that effort," Tom chuckled as he considered new options. The detective wouldn't be missed for a good amount of time. Then, if he played this right, Callaghan could send the authorities down a completely different road ... while here, just under their very noses, the detective would simply ... _die_.

"Just move his car ... in fact, we'll leave the car as close to the hospital as we can get before we go to the airport. Let them think he was abducted on the way to get his _friend_ ," Callaghan laughed as this newest plan gelled inside his head. "Maybe we'll get an earlier flight back. Regardless, we'll keep them guessing and be long gone by the time they figure anything out."

He looked again into the deep blue of the cloudless sky and measured the overwhelming strength of the sun which was swinging around to hit high Noon. There was no evidence of shade on the grassy expanse of the lawn and the storage container could be set in the blazing heat for hours. Better yet, it looked like it belonged there with its plain colored construction and dark green lid. The composite mold even had cute designs of sea turtles pressed around its sides. Tom laughed because he hadn't noticed them before and it was all rather ... benign.

He pointed towards the two chairs sitting close to the water, so companionably side by side and laughed outright. They would wheel the trunk just a few feet back from behind those chairs. The delicate placing of a towel or two on the green lid would add to the commonality of the container's belonging to the environment. It would look ... _natural_ ... and maybe soon - possibly in a day or two when the odor might begin to waft - someone might discover the missing detective.

Moaning in fear, eyes screwed shut in denial, Danny felt the box lift up on one side. He slid barely an inch down, the crown of his head rapping painfully into the corner as his feet were elevated. He thrashed weakly as the container began a bumpy uneven roll from the lanai and across the grass only to stop before the elevated end was dropped with a dull thud. For a long moment, Danny couldn't hear a single thing except for the blood rushing through his head and the noisy frenetic inhales and exhales he vainly tried to control through his nose. Dizzy and nauseous, he fought to stay calm before he managed to open his eyes. He stared straight ahead, his nose less than an inch from the side of the container, surprised that he wasn't exactly in complete darkness, but the soft greenish glow was disturbing nonetheless. The container was new and the plastic smell nauseating inside as it began to heat up, the odor cloying and fake. Danny shifted his shoulders and tried to move, but he couldn't manage even a quarter-turn inside the small space and he slid limply back to where Callaghan had shoved him down, moaning in frustration as sweat beaded his face and trickled down his back. Blood slicked his forehead while his pulse throbbed in time to his racing heartbeat. He needed to stay calm and control his fear. Danny knew this without a doubt and yet, he couldn't wrap his head around what had just happened.

Danny couldn't hear anything beyond the thick walls of composite material, and he was hot and growing hotter by each passing second. Bent awkwardly on his side, he tried to kick out his feet to make noise, but he lacked the room and the angle was poor. His fingers scrabbled behind him as he twisted and turned his bound wrists, chafing his skin so much that he began to bleed. Bound too tightly to move more than an inch in either direction, Danny fought to breathe in air which was stifling in his temperature and growing stagnant.

There was nothing to hear. No movement outside the container - not a flicker of a shadow, nor a single sound except for the frightened whine he couldn't hide even from himself. The keen was low and broken inside his throat, his tongue still fighting the thick fabric which absorbed the moisture in his mouth. As Danny's fear intensified, it dawned on him then that Callaghan might have left him right in the middle of Steve's yard. He'd been left to die right under Steve's very nose.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	12. Chapter 12

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Twelve**

"Something's wrong," Steve argued over the phone, his temper flaring to get the better of him even though Kono was wholeheartedly agreeing with him. "Issue a BOLO! Right now!" Originally amused by what he'd assumed to be a nominal delay caused by traffic or some other trivial cause, Steve was now on the verge of panic as he failed at tracking Danny down. Wheelchair bound while still inside the hospital's walls, he was unable to pace or do those things he'd automatically manage for himself. Frustrated and worried, he remained stuck precisely where he was, utterly helpless.

Mild amusement had become annoyance as time ticked by, then he'd gotten a bad itch. A pervasive feeling that perhaps something was wrong ... that something bad had happened to Danny. When his calls went unanswered, Steve's worry had transformed into an unlikely anger. A check of the time had warranted action and Steve had called the Five-0 offices demanding that either Chin or Kono track the Camaro's GPS signal, along with that of Danny's cell phone. When those results came back so very close to the hospital, yet the signals unmoving, Steve now didn't hesitate. His voice on the rise, he was demanding that alerts be issued and HPD resources be instantly assigned to locating his partner despite the obvious fact that Kono was trying to explain that she'd already set those wheels into motion.

"Get someone there, Kono," Steve said, his voice loud despite the supposed sanctity of the hospital's walls. "I want that car locked down and checked from top to bottom! He's not just _late_ anymore! Something's happened to Danny ... he's not answering his phone. I want him _found_ ... now!"

"Steve?" He glanced up at the call of his name, not too surprised to find Doctor Ramirez coming his way. The older man knew of his release that day and was likely there to confirm medical orders. It was another facet of the doctor's generous nature, but Steve didn't have the time nor desire to express his thanks. Not quite yet.

"Doc," Steve murmured softly in acknowledgment. His thoughts were far away though. Preoccupied by something far more important, he didn't have time to fully answer the man's obvious concerned query. Instead, Steve listened to Kono's recitation of his orders as he roughly scrubbed his fingers through his hair, hard enough to hurt while his brain triple-timed though the worst possible scenarios. Before he ended his call with Kono though, he was voicing his biggest fear to both her and the retired doctor.

"Callaghan's people have him ... I know they do."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

HPD hadn't been sent to Steve's house. There hadn't been a need because of the general belief being that Danny had been abducted en route to the hospital. With the Camaro sitting idle at a small convenience mart only one block from the hospital, the stage had been set exactly as Callaghan had planned. Unbeknownst to anyone as they chased a series of dead ends, Callaghan had gone back into Steve's house to calmly gather up all of Danny's personal articles, including the duffle bag. The man had even taken the time to clean the smears of blood left on the refrigerator - inside and out before following his second who had driven the Camaro to the local convenience mart at a slow, leisurely pace. They had parked on opposite sides of the small store, Callaghan waiting for his lackey to leave the Camaro and join him so that they could continue on to the airport.

By the time they'd situated themselves in the first class lounge, stretched out and with cool drinks in hand, the first of the HPD units were circling the parked Camaro. Both Chin and Kono were knee-deep in setting up a perimeter and questioning anyone who might have seen Danny or noticed anything out of the ordinary. More than an hour after raising the alarm, Steve had begun to slowly implode from his enforced inability to participate. So it was Doctor Ramirez who had rescued Steve from the sterile confines of the hospital, driving the anxious man home in the end. Adamant about the BOLO and demanding all hands on deck in the search for his partner, Steve had done all he could and it made sense for the doctor to kindly step in, intervening to help where he could, too.

Unlocking his front door, Steve hop-stepped over the threshold, Ponch on his heels. Both men were quiet, each lost in thought. Ponch worried about the welfare of both young men and Steve solely focused on Danny. Feeling useless and leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, Steve continued on to the kitchen, his depression growing in knowing that Danny had so recently been there. In fact, Chin had found the duffel on the back seat of the Camaro, his clothes packed not so neatly inside. But on the front passenger seat, Danny's wallet, cell phone and badge had been left for all to see. A clear challenge - a dangerous statement - _proof_ that he had indeed been taken. And what hurt Steve the most, was that Danny had been so close to the hospital when it had happened.

With hardly a glance over his shoulder, Steve mumbled a nonsensical sound to Ponch who was already warning him to get off his feet. Traffic had been heavy on the freeway and it was now nearing three hours since Danny's time of disappearance, and they still had nothing. Not even a hint of a rumor. Only a pile of Danny's belongings which had been left inside the car.

"Steve, you need to sit down. You can take any calls from a chair," Ponch said more firmly. Evidently the short crutched hobble from car to house was deemed to be too much, and irritated by the mollycoddling, Steve frowned. Instead of obeying, he loitered in the kitchen, abandoning one crutch against the counter and leaning on the second to pour himself a glass of water. His silent reasoning being thirst which was more an excuse to merely stay on his feet in order to stare idly out his back window. Momentarily unchallenged by Ramirez, Steve stayed where he was in the kitchen, sensing the doctor's movements inside his house. Activity which seemed to focus in the main living area, likely getting the sofa ready for him based upon his desire to get Steve off his feet.

Lost in thought and silently demanding that someone call with an update, Steve took a sip from his glass as he gazed out the window upset about how Callaghan had once again bested them. Staring almost blindly at the sky, the ocean and then the two chairs which he didn't really see at first. He stopped though, the water glass held mid way to his lips, when he saw it - the _thing_ which didn't belong. His brain sputtered, sparking a severe tremble through his hand. A tremble so severe that the water glass slipped from his nerveless fingers and he dropped it. The heavy tumbler fell, its impact in the empty sink overly loud. Glass splintering instantly, shards sparkling warningly in the porcelain basin.

"Where did that come from?" Steve said out loud and entirely to himself before a startling realization teased his thoughts and he gasped in denial. "What the hell?" He narrowed his eyes, a strange feeling tightening across his chest as his breath hitched in understanding and he began to move.

"Oh my God - that's not mine."

"Steve?" Ponch rounded the corner, pillows in hand, the sound of breaking glass easy enough for him to hear in the quiet house. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

"That's not mine!" He repeated almost stupidly as he turned to face the big doctor, whose substantial size blocked the doorway. But then the second crutch was crashing to the floor and Steve was grabbing a large carving knife from the butcher block. He ignored the doctor's stunned expression, one hand raised defensively as if he might do something completely unexpected.

"What are you going on about ... what's not yours?" Ramirez asked in confusion as he warily eyed the knife. But then he was unceremoniously shoved aside, Steve nearly falling past him in his rush. The doctor tried to grab the younger man's arm to stop his momentum, but he was almost too easily shaken off. Surprised by Steve's sudden show of strength, Ponch lost his balance and fell into the door frame, stumbling back a step or two, pillows falling from his arms.

"Steve! Wait! Where are you going?" He asked, worry spiking as he realized Steve was bearing weight on his bad leg. "You can't _walk_ yet ... stop!"

"Doc ... that box ... it's not mine," Steve exclaimed as he hobbled towards the lanai, his heart hammering inside his chest. He knew what it was then - he guessed what Callaghan had done and he was mortified by the truth, yet he couldn't find enough of the right words. Stammering over his own tongue, Steve wildly gestured with the knife as he paused long enough to make eye contact with his older friend. He knew the awful truth as he said the words, the heat of the sun beating down mercilessly from above. _Too long_ \- it had been far too long and he cursed Callaghan's persistent vindictiveness. Steve pleaded with Ramirez, spouting demands, tears already glistening in his eyes.

"Call 911 right now. Danny's _here_ , Doc. He's been right here the entire time!"

"But!" Ramirez started to object until he followed Steve out the lanai. Nothing looked wrong and the yard was peacefully quiet, only the sounds of seagulls could be heard echoing from overhead. He scowled in confusion, his arms spread beseechingly because he saw absolutely nothing out of place. "Here? How could he be here?"

"The _storage_ box ... Doc," Steve gasped as he hopped across the grassy expanse, the pain in his voice obvious as every unfortunate step tore into his thigh and lower back. Still, he continued on, knowing that Danny would be inside and that they could very well be much too late.

"It's not _mine_ ... it's not supposed to be here."

"Storage box?" Ponch complained, still baffled when his eyes settled on the boring shape, common enough as it was until he realized what Steve was truly saying. Until he really saw Steve's desperation and the knife he held in his hand. His one goal with that knife, the composite storage container and its sparkling silver lock, its bland sides decorated with the molded impressions of happy sea turtles. Placed in the sun-drenched yard near the two chairs the storage container looked normal enough until Steve's words sunk into his mind.

_It's not mine ... it's not supposed to be here._

"Oh no," the doctor muttered softly as he realized what Steve meant and without another hesitation, he yanked his cell phone from his pocket in order to place the urgent call. Then he was running in the opposite direction, back though the house and out the front door, returning to his own vehicle to get his medical bag.

"Danny!" Steve shouted as he tried to run across his yard. " _Danny_!" His hop-skipped gait was more of a pained limp, lame as he was from being wounded. He crashed to his knees by the container, thumping his fist on the hot lid as he fell. Scared beyond measure, he continually called out his friend's name distinctly aware of the biting pain in his thigh and hip.

"Shit! Danny! Can you hear me?" He bellowed loudly as he began to work on the heavy lock. Steve's voice fell into a whimper when there was no response though. Not a sound from inside and he nearly dropped the knife, his hands slick with sweat in his haste for speed.

"Danny. God damnit. Answer me. Please, _please_ answer me, buddy." Gasping though a debilitating pain which he was trying to ignore, Steve forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Leaning heavily on his better knee, he used the blade of the knife to forcibly pry the metal flanges away from the thick material. He worked at the housing quickly, snapping the metal away hard enough to break the tip of the knife to finally win the battle. He jarred his hand when the metal gave but then he was automatically thumbing the latches open, the sharp clicks of their springs flying free to allow the lid to pop open.

" _Nononono,_ " Steve chanted brokenly as he caught sight of the shock of sweat-drenched, blood-stained hair. "Danny?"

In stunned horror, Steve took in the form of his best friend, bound and lifeless, and all he could do for a moment was simply stare. Afraid to touch him, Steve's hand hovered inches above Danny's shoulder, his fingers clenching and unclenching repeatedly completely unsure of what do despite years of training.

"Danny. _Danny_ ... Please," he whispered, a sob catching in his throat as he finally thought to move. He reached inside, a hand under Danny's head, the other trying to lift the dead weight of his upper body and hurting himself in the process. Hobbling on one leg, Steve awkwardly heaved Danny free not immediately realizing that Ponch was there, too, at Danny's feet and helping to lift.

With infinite care Steve sank back down to his knees. He was feeling weak and decidedly slow as he carefully sliced the duct tape away from Danny's face, cursing Callaghan's name as he gently removed the gummy wad of cloth from Danny's mouth. Pillowed in his arms, the mussed blonde head lolled listlessly, Danny's mouth now partly open but under rivulets of sticky blood, his face ashen and lax. He glanced once in askance into Ponch's eyes, the doctor expertly running his hands over Danny's face and neck, his assessment quick but telling.

"We need to get him out of the sun. I got his hands ... and his legs," Ponch said as he used a pair of surgical scissors to free Danny's wrists and remove the duct tape from his knees and ankles. He moved quickly, slicing away the remnants of heavy gray tape, glancing hurriedly over Danny's body, constantly assessing. Unhappy by his first impressions, Ponch crouched down to take Danny's wrist between his fingers. The pulse was there, but fluttering and much too faint. Worry spiking for the heated texture of Danny's skin and the gash on his temple, the doctor tried to catch Steve's eye.

"Steve ... is he still breathing?"

"Yes," Steve whispered as he caught the shallow rise of his friend's chest, his eyes shining with tears. His fingers were melded to the side of Danny's neck but then he shook his head in frustration as he readjusted his grip. For a long heartbeat, he felt nothing ... saw nothing ... and Steve lost his focus.

"I don't think so." He couldn't be certain of anything as he looked down into Danny's slack face, all reason fleeing his mind. "He's not breathing. I don't think he's breathing," he forced himself to say while he tried to understand the bluish hue to Danny's lips, so odd against the ashen pallor of his skin. "No. I don't know. Doc?"

"We need to move him to the shade and lay him flat," Ramirez ordered as he swiftly took over the triage when Steve froze, his fingers numbly carding through Danny's lank hair. "Steve? We need to cool him down ... check his airway ... get him breathing. Come on, son. _Steve_ ... get up and help me out here."

Steve nodded, registering that Ponch was lifting Danny away from him and he needed to help. Old fashioned resilience finally got his brain to function as he struggled to his own feet, unsteady and hissing in pain. He bent over at the waist, his vision sparkling oddly as his thigh muscle seized and his lower back objected. He heard Ponch's concerned queries and shook his head to deny the questions, a definite mistake as the world spun dangerously under his feet.

"Fine," Steve vowed though gritted teeth. Eyes briefly closed to fight pain and vertigo, completely incapable of moving let alone helping Ponch, he fought to control his breathing and stay upright. "Can you ... move him?"

"I'll do most of the work ... I got him," the big doctor confirmed as Steve tried to help carry his partner to the shady corner of the lawn, yet failed. Using the advantage of his size, Ponch levered Danny's upper body up, his arms crossed across the detective's chest as he slowly dragged the injured man backwards into the shade where he laid Danny down in the grass. Ponch watched Steve stumble in his wake, his skin shining in sweat and his face now nearly as gray as his partner's. Ponch opened his mouth and then closed it, knowing he'd get nowhere with him. So instead, he doled out a simple job to keep Steve's hands busy and his mind focused.

"Sit down. I don't care where," Ponch brusquely stated, slightly relieved when Steve eased himself down to the grassy lawn next to Danny's side. His bad leg out-stretched, Steve rocked on his good hip and briefly squeezed his eyes closed, his discomfort evident. For the moment though, that could be all which the doctor could hope for and so he set his jaw unhappily before concentrating on Danny.

"We need to cool him down," he said. "Get his shirt off ... we need to cool him down, Steve. You do that and I'll be right back."

While Ponch briefly left them, Steve worked at the buttons of Danny's shirt, his fingers feeling too thick to work right. He snuck a look through his lashes at his friend's face, no less stunned to see the bluish tint to Danny's lips. Blood streaked Danny's brow and ran in jagged, shiny lines down his left cheek, humidity not allowing the red stains to dry.

"Danno?" Steve breathed out softly because Danny's eyes were partly open with just a hint of glassy blue showing; but the sightless gaze was unnerving. Worse yet, Danny still didn't appear to be breathing and Steve began to shake as he forced himself to finish unbuttoning the tacky shirt. His fear swelled when everything seemed to take too long and he couldn't get his fingers to cooperate. In a fit of frustration, he resorted to using the kitchen knife, the simple snick of its broken tip still easily cutting through restrictive fabric. Then he was slicing through each sleeve, pulling the sweat-stained garment off in hacked pieces, his distress growing as heat rolled off Danny in sickly waves.

"Here, take this," Ponch said just above his left shoulder. Steve glanced up, not realizing that Ponch had left him for the garden hose until it was thrust into his hands. Cool water was already trickling slowly from its end and new orders were given as the doctor focused on Danny's vital signs.

"He's breathing ... his respiration is depressed, but he's alive," Ponch softly assured Steve, their eyes meeting over the top of Danny's body. "But you need to help me cool him down," the doctor patiently reiterated as he put his hand over Steve's to demonstrate what he wanted when the younger man didn't react.

"Like this," Ponch coached while he gently guided both their hands together with the water hose over Danny's arms first. "Slowly, over his head, chest and arms ... cool him down, Steve. Ambulance is on the way; but I need you to keep doing this until they get here. Don't stop."

"Yeah, I know ... I'm sorry ... I know," Steve murmured as he mentally chastised himself, his hands suddenly more confident as he ran his fingers through Danny's hair, swiping sweat, blood and heat away under the gentle flow. He thumbed away the blood on Danny's cheek. Then he set the gentle stream of water across Danny's bruised neck, shoulders and torso, moving on to his arms; skimming gently over torn and swollen wrists only to begin again at the top. Over and over, Steve saturated Danny's hair and focused on the critical task of cooling down his overheated friend until he was told to stop.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	13. Chapter 13

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Thirteen**

He was moving, although he wasn't. Not really. He only felt as if his body were moving along with the stifling waves of heat which tugged so hard at him, their heavy weight making it impossible to move a single muscle. Yet he mysteriously still felt as if he were moving. It made no matter since he simply wasn't nearly strong enough anymore to fight the feelings. His arms were leaden and his hands no longer even attached to his wrists. His legs were also missing entirely from the lower half of his body. The only thing which existed was his _head_ and he only knew that because it ached so very much on the stem of his wobbly neck with every haltingly made inhale and shallow exhale.

 _Waves_.

So, that meant he was drowning then? The impossibility of drawing in the slightest amount of air made sense now because there was no air. Only thick waves of water. Each wave as impossible to breathe in as the one before. Then there was the issue of his mouth which was glued shut, but weirdly also opened now as he inhaled a small puff of air to soothe his laboring lungs.

 _Air_.

He drew in another inhale, much bigger this time, which left him gasping like a gaffed fish and then he could't stop. Danny's expression suddenly pinched in pain as his body remembered to _breathe_ , another wheezing inhale raising his chest as if he'd been electrocuted. He moaned softly as his body reacted to what had just been denied, his tongue feeling swollen where it stuck to the roof of his pallet; bone-dry and tasting like fouled cotton.

"Easy, easy," Steve chanted as Danny's face contorted and his body suddenly twitched. He paused for a hairsbreadth when he first heard the soft moan, the hose with its cold water left to gently trickle over Danny's upper chest. He stared hopefully into Danny's face, surprised to see the change in expression and then the fluttering of his friend's eyelashes. Nonetheless, Steve was soon put off by what was now appearing to be an onset of shivering and agitation.

"You're okay ... it's okay, buddy," he tried to soothe, looking to the doctor for direction when Danny began to stir, his movements feeble and slow. Simultaneously relieved to hear sirens now just a few streets away from his house. "Is he all right, Doc?"

"He's coming round. Maybe," Ponch said from where he was on his knees, close to Danny's head, his stethoscope now dangling loosely around his neck. He narrowed his eyes, not entirely pleased by reactions he distinctly read as confusion. "Danny ... can you hear me?"

As he regained some semblance of awareness, he felt the cold water as it flowed over his head, then it touched his neck and shoulders. Hot waves and cold water commingled and Danny shivered unhappily, tossing his head and clenching swollen fingers into weak fists. A murmur of sound came next - a deep buzz of noise - and he fought to open his eyes, blearily blinking upwards. Two dark shapes towered over him, swallowing up all the light and Danny shivered again, forehead furrowed. He tried to moisten his lips, his tongue just as dry though, only able to understand that he was sick. He had to be sick because he couldn't comprehend a single thing other than the throbbing pain inside his head. He should know what was happening. He should know _something_ , but nothing was making any sense.

"Keep running the water over him," Ponch directed Steve as he hunkered down closer to Danny, retaking his vitals and attempting to determine the man's cognizant state. "He's got a long way to go yet, Steve." He missed the worry which instantly crossed Steve's face as Danny blinked his eyes open, seemingly to stare straight through each of them, still mostly non responsive.

"Danno?" Steve pressed, his hands back to busily carding cool water through his hair. He automatically dragged the trickle of water over Danny's shoulders and neck, the side of his free hand back to sluicing it off in sheets. Constantly working at getting Danny cooled down and putting his own pain to the side, Steve sought some type of recognition from his partner even as he registered the arrival of the paramedic team. Nothing happened though, at least not until Steve got to Danny's right arm, then the mangled wrist, his free hand gently thumbing the bruises under the steady flow. Danny's face changed again, the frown deepening when Steve grasped his fingers.

"Hey," Steve whispered when Danny's head slowly rolled his way. Barely an inch of movement, but enough for their eyes to try and meet. Enough for Steve to try and soothe and offer a few reassurances despite the unsettling lack of recognition.

"You're okay ... you're going to be fine ... promise, Danno." Though he wasn't entirely able to focus, Danny's eyes were trying to track him and Steve offered a tentative smile. "Hold on ... stay with me, buddy. You're good ... you're all right, Danno." He shook his head, fighting to remain calm when Danny tried to free his hand, a weak attempt at sitting up forestalled by Doctor Ramirez.

Danny's head swam dizzily, the internal thud increasing along with the sickly feverish chill. He was alternating between a stifling heat and an oddly frigid cold. Something which soaked his skin ... _water_ ... he recognized dimly that his hair was wet.

 _No_ , that _he_ was wet and something was decidedly off as the two dark shapes continued to loom over his body. He should _remember_ ... there was a reason behind his unease ... a reason behind a belief that he was drowning or suffocating inside himself. He needed to remember why he was so miserably sick. So hot, that his mouth was as dry as dust and yet, he was _intentionally_ being drowned _inside it_ ... a deeply green-hued aura. Confused and with his distress growing, Danny's brain refused to string together anything more than discordant feelings.

Danny flinched as his fingers were captured, his tug to get away flaring an ache inside his wrist. There was a murmur of sound which he didn't understand. It could have been words or orders, but he simply didn't understand the what or why of them. A vague sense of being in danger made him close his eyes briefly, his brow furrowing even more in distress as he was prevented from moving. His muscles screamed when he tensed almost instantly and he lashed out then, his legs scissoring wildly at the same time a pair of strong hands clamped unrelentingly to his shoulders.

"No, _no_ ... don't try to move, Danny! What the hell!?" Steve barked in surprise when Danny's demeanor changed within seconds. "Easy ... hey, _hey hey_!"

"He's disoriented ... or even hallucinating," Ponch breathlessly explained as he held Danny's shoulders to the grassy lawn. He hissed worriedly under his breath as he glanced towards Steve. When he'd gotten the water hose, he'd demanded a second ambulance and now, he was glad of his instincts. Besides this first paramedic team, HPD had arrived and more sirens could be heard in the distance. The younger man's complexion was waxy and pale; a fearful tension made it worse. His posture had decidedly sagged into a pained, slouch. Steve was in no shape to help anyone - not even himself - and an errant kick or punch in just the right spot could easily worsen his tenuous condition.

"Steve, I want you to let him go and back off. Let me and the medics handle this before you get hurt. Danny's body temperature is high ... too high and he's incoherent. He's dehydrated, confused; possibly picking up where he left off before those maniacs did this to him."

"But, ..." Steve objected, unwilling to let go of Danny's hand even though the struggle was increasing. He was dislodged though by Ramirez himself who almost sprinted to his side as the medics replaced where he'd been.

"Let them work," Ramirez demanded. "They need room to work ... Danny will be okay with them ... let them work, Steve." He disengaged Steve's fingers at the same time one of the medics gently took over. Crouched next to Steve at first, Ponch put his arms around his shoulders before carefully lifting him up and away, unsurprised to find that Steve could barely stand. A fact which seemed surprising to the younger man though when he gasped and sagged heavily into the big doctor.

"Too much," Ponch breathed into Steve's ear. "Too much, Steve. Take it easy." The meaning of those wry words weren't lost on Steve as his vision quite literally whited out. He couldn't find his legs and then decided he didn't want to as a sharp pain lodged in his hip. More hands joined the doctor's then and Steve felt himself being moved, then laid flat on his back, buckled so quickly into place onto a gurney, he'd no time to argue.

 

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	14. Chapter 14

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Doc? Danny?" Steve was downright scared as he lay stranded on his back on a gurney in the emergency room. He was looking up at the doctor in askance, at the whim of even more medical staff as they catered to his needs. Resentful and annoyed by the attention, Steve groaned under his breath. His frustration obvious and only growing when Ramirez didn't reply.

"What the hell's happening to him?"

He was in triage next to the small curtained area where Danny had been wheeled in just a few minutes after he'd arrived. Ponch had his hand twisted in the front of Steve's shirt as if he might try and actually get up and bolt for freedom, but it was unnecessary. One look at the younger man was enough to know that he'd be incapable of doing more than he was doing at that very moment. Lying on his back and occasionally grunting in discomfort, Steve was speckled by a sheen of pain-related sweat. The soreness in his leg had become an unbearable throbbing ache. As a result, his complexion appeared to be permanently ashen, his skin shining damply and cold to the touch.

"Doc?" Steve asked again, his voice breaking to end on a tight, dry cough. He was indeed scared as he stared spellbound to his right. Personal aches and pains momentarily pushed to the side, Steve didn't want to admit that he understood what he was seeing. Discussions were running strong about needing to intubate his friend just a few feet away. Horrified, Steve helplessly watched as Danny's body stiffened with an abnormal rigidity.

Unable to look away, Steve's view was often obstructed by a sea of white and blue clad figures which flittered busily around his best friend. He barely registered the blurred colors of movement though as he caught sight of Danny's right arm which was twitching repetitively. A twitch which was more that of a frightening shake despite the unyielding tension of his corded muscles down to his fingers. The hectic activity was overwhelming, nurses and doctors rushing to and fro, the privacy curtain swaying constantly as people pushed by each other on a focused mission. And yet Steve only saw that one arm, Danny's fingers clenched in a white-knuckled fist.

"Ponch ... _please_ ," Steve begged desperately as the tattered remains of Danny's pants fell to the floor only to be kicked under the gurney. "Is he okay? What's happening?"

With that last shred of decency, Danny had been entirely stripped of his clothes only to be draped with cold, cooling sheets. Separated from his friend when he'd just been waking and combative, what Steve was seeing now was entirely unexpected and he was more than scared. Now, Steve was petrified.

"Danny's seizing," Ponch finally replied. He tried to say the words calmly, yet there was no way to avoid his own stress as he stated the plain facts. With one hand wended tightly within the fabric of Steve's t-shirt, he was poised on his toes and avidly watching what he could of the second team's actions as they worked at stabilizing the detective's abused body. He could feel the vibration through his hand though. A combination of pain and a very real fear emanated from Steve, but there wasn't much more he could say to calm the man's mind. Ponch simply didn't know. No one in the ER knew a damned thing yet about Danny's overall condition as they fought to stabilize him.

"We got him out though," Steve argued. "We were cooling him down ... it was working ... he _woke up ._..!"

"No. He didn't really," Ponch interrupted softly, his correction delivered as kindly as possible. "He was delirious, Steve. He's hyperthermic ... and while what we did helped, his core temperature is much too high right now and they have to get it down. He's seizing because his temperature spiked back up as soon as we stopped ... it soared in the ambulance on the way here. He's seizing because he's simply too _hot_."

As the seizure abated and Danny was indeed intubated, Ponch turned back towards Steve and immediately disapproved of what he saw. Regardless of Steve's ongoing distraction over his partner's state, the younger man was in incredible agony. The evidence of a very real physical pain filled Steve's eyes and he was breathing quickly, but much too shallow. Ponch glanced up, worry growing as he read a blood pressure reading which was very low; in fact, none of Steve's vital signs were even near optimal levels. Newly focused on Steve's medical team's activities, the big doctor read the same concern in the attending physician's demeanor, along with a bit of confusion.

"What's wrong?" Ponch inquired, his hand now splayed almost possessively over Steve's chest. "What's your assessment? You seem troubled."

"Not entirely sure to be honest," the attending admitted with a thoughtful shrug. "Vitals are depressed. His leg is extremely tender and he's in significant pain. He's also much too pale ... actually even down to his foot ... I'd say that the blood flow in his leg seems to have been compromised."

"How do you feel?" Ponch demanded of Steve, his hand tapping a discordant rhythm on the man's chest. Looking at Steve with an astute eye, the pale nature of his skin tone was telling of a larger problem. "And be honest because right now, Steve, you look like shit and it's not the time to pull any heroics. This is serious ... how much pain are you in?"

Steve opened his mouth, then clamped it shut as an unfortunate touch along the skin of his thigh nearest the bullet wound sent a flare of agony through the entire limb. He groaned deeply in his throat as another gentle touch sent tendrils of fire into his body. His mouth flew open as he panted hard, losing his battle in fighting another grunt of pain.

"Shit! Leave ... it alone," he wheezed, his hands flailing towards those that kept almost mercilessly poking and prodding. "Just ... _leave_ ... yeah, okay ... it hurts. A lot."

Unable to get a grip on controlling his breathing, Steve shook his head as a flurry of conversation convened over his head. He screwed his eyes closed as the softest of touches uncoupled his ability to remain quiet. Hissing under his breath to argue another pained moan, Steve fisted both this hands in frustration as an oxygen mask was fitted over his nose and mouth. He panted loudly into the mask, vainly trying to draw in enough oxygen to clear his head. Another pained sound escaped him anyway despite his best efforts when his knee and foot were examined with a diligent care. Suddenly powerless to cope, Steve felt a cold sweat building across his brow while even more trickled unrelentlingly down his back. He simply felt terrible and his leg was making itself known in ways he hadn't thought possible.

"Danny?" Steve slurred as his unease swelled. His voice was muffled and wracked with pain, yet he knew he'd been heard as Ramirez almost patronizingly patted his shoulder. He was sick, but Danny was so much worse and he shook his head again in denial when the doctor merely tapped his chest, his ongoing query clear. Unhappy about the attention, Steve peered up into Ponch's face, his jaw set to argue. He failed entirely though under the doctor's adamant glare.

"Steve? I need details. How do you feel?" Ponch prodded determinedly. "When did your leg start to hurt this badly?"

With only Danny of tantamount concern, Steve hadn't anticipated this change as everyone who circled his gurney waited for an answer. His eyes skidded from the stern look on Ponch's face over to that of his own dedicated ER doctor. This younger doctor wasn't much different from Ramirez as he waited for Steve to reply. However, Steve's attention was drifting again, his ears perked towards the curtains separating him from Danny's anxious medical team.

"How is he?" Steve whispered stubbornly. "I ... is he ... all right?"

"Danny's in very good hands," Ponch soothed, but his expression turned surly when he saw the continued distracted look in Steve's eyes. " ... and so are you, if you'd cooperate. So tell me, how do you feel, Steve? The truth. Now."

"Awful," Steve eventually pushed out, teeth now clenched as the attending doctor, Simms according to his blurry identification badge, continued on his gentle investigation of the wound. Steve swallowed thickly, nausea rising as he really considered himself. He didn't need to see what his doctors saw to know that he was truly sick and likely in a load of trouble. He'd also be no help at all to his partner or team if he continued to ignore what was now a worrisome rise in his own woes. Whatever was happening to him certainly wasn't normal and he could feel that truth with every pulsating beat of his heart. Steve didn't need the doctors to confirm those facts as a wave of dizziness made him briefly close his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Simms asked as he saw the further ill change in his patient's complexion. "What just happened, Commander?"

"Hurts ... and there's ... no ... scale for it," Steve hissed quietly before Ponch could ask him to jump through even more hoops. He had to be honest now because he couldn't remember precisely when he'd ever hurt so very much. The room swam and banked sharply left even though he was flat on his back. Eyes pinched shut, Steve couldn't help gasping at the strange flux of vertigo. An inhale turned into a spate of broken puffs into the oxygen mask which literally did nothing to ease the sensation either. Brow furrowed in misery, Steve's hand shook as he blindly tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead, a throat-clicking convulsive heave barely keeping a knot of bile inside his chest.

"What else?" Ponch asked, close to his ear, his shaking hand now enveloped in the elder doctor's strong grip. "Steve? Come on, son. What's going on?"

"Dizzy, nauseous ... and I'm really ... tired," Steve whispered, his voice slurred and husky. "What's ... what's ... wrong with me?"

He licked his lips, his distress growing in spades. What he wanted to do - where he wanted to be - so far out of his reach as his body completely rebelled. There was a pause over his head and Steve peered up, his eyes teary and wet. But his vision was hazy and the lights in the ER suddenly much too bright for him to cope with. Still, he squinted upwards, trying to read their expressions until giving up with another pained groan as fire lanced into his lower back.

"Blood clot?" Simms questioned his older peer. Retired or not, Simms liked Ramirez and valued his opinion. But he twisted his lips thoughtfully when Ramirez frowned while carefully testing the tightness of the skin on the Commander's injured leg.

"When did you start to experience this level of pain? When?" Ponch asked to clarify one more point for his own growing conclusions. He wasn't looking at Steve's face now. Instead, he was concentrating on what he could feel under his skilled fingers. "It's important, Steve. Around when did your pain level begin to increase?"

"Not ... sure." Eyes welded closed against the bright lights in the room, Steve weakly shrugged, wincing as even that small motion sent a ripple of dizziness into his head. He dimly considered his home, the sunny kitchen, and the view of his yard. Feeling more sick to his stomach when he recalled seeing the damnable storage container for the first time. His race outside and then, the subsequent pain in his hip.

_Danny. Ashen. Lifeless. Left to die under their very noses._

"Back at my place ... when I was by Danny ... the storage container," Steve wheezed around a plaintive whine. "My ... place."

"So, right after you tried to use your leg," the big doctor clarified much too blandly, a sign which clearly indicated his worry. Lips pursed tightly closed, Ponch glanced towards Simms and shook his head, a heavy sigh on the heels of his next words. The original bullet wound had been serious enough and for Steve to have been moving so actively and flexing his leg, the stress factors on healing tissues was becoming apparent to him.

"Too soon ... much, much too soon. Circulation's been compromised ... not a blood clot though."

"Pseudo aneurism? Compartment syndrome?" The two doctors uttered the words simultaneously, only Simms snorting in a type of amusement. In fact, Simms mentally congratulated himself as he earned a complimentary nod from his elder peer. The prognosis was becoming potentially more apparent as his patient's symptoms were astutely clarified to support some type of internal hemorrhage.

"He needs an ultrasound to confirm what we're dealing with," Simms countered before throwing orders towards his team. "Let's get that done stat. Depending on the results, we have a few options to stop the internal bleed."

"Internal ... what? _Bleed_?" Steve croaked in alarm despite his voice being so badly muffled, his eyes flying back open. He searched out Ponch's face for confirmation, a rise in fear twisting his stomach into knots. "Surgery?"

"Not necessarily," Ponch comforted him as he backed away for Simms' team to continue their work. "There's other options like Doctor Simms is considering ... first things first, son. Let them take care of you ... I'll be here. I'll try to help where I can."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

"How bad are they?" Chin asked. Keyed up, his usually serene expression, was lined with an unfamiliar level of stress brought on by worry and an increasing period of restlessness. "What happened to Steve? How bad is Danny ... and Steve?"

He'd just explained to the doctor that Kono was on her way to the airport, with supportive HPD units and airport security on high alert. They'd been completely blindsided and caught unawares, now they were trying to divide and conquer. Their injured team mates would additionally be protected within the walls of the hospital. Plus, he and Kono had agreed that at least one of them needed to speak to Steve in person. But not once during their rapid collaboration had either thought their boss incapacitated.

Ponch wearily dragged his hands down his face, a heavy sigh partially obstructed on the way. He had followed the second ambulance, just a few minutes behind the one which held Steve and the crew caring for the ailing man. Though he was retired and not exactly either man's personal physician, he didn't know which way to turn now that he'd been ousted from Steve's side. He was used to action and being involved from start to finish, giving orders and being minded. Relegated to a proverbial back seat even by the understanding Doctor Simms, he could only clench his fists in frustration as he paced in the waiting room.

"Bad," he finally answered. "Steve's undergoing a few tests to assess a possible internal bleed. And Danny's suffering from hyperthermia - heat stroke, dehydration. His body temperature was well above normal at 104 when we pulled him out of that damned storage box ... it was still just over 103 when the ambulance arrived and he had a seizure en route. Another ... here. They've been working on trying to stabilize him since his temperature is hovering around 102 or so now ... while it's coming down, he's not out of the woods."

"What?" Chin rocked his jaw at the sobering news, first stunned by where Steve and the doctor had almost accidentally discovered their friend. Aghast now as he was given even more of the details.

"I'm ... sorry? A seizure?" Chin repeated dumbfounded, his voice monotone. "You said ... seizure?" He blinked in disbelief, a slow shake of his head asking if he'd actually heard wrong. But instead of negating the concerns, Ponch merely added more information to carry import.

"We tried to cool him down after we got him out of that damned thing," Ponch explained quietly. "Cool water ... gentle pressure using a basic garden hose ... it worked for awhile. He roused just a bit, but he was off ... confused and disoriented. He immediately became combative and though we tried, the water and subsequent ice packs weren't nearly enough to bring his body temperature down. So once we stopped ... once he was loaded into the ambulance, his core temperature re-spiked ... bounced right back up ... and he's seized twice."

"Doc? But ...," Chin's voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to know by that point as he nervously scrubbed his hand through his hair.

"They're still working on getting Danny's temperature down and stabilizing him," Ponch said. "Ice-water soaked sheets will eventually bring down his core body temperature. He's on medication to depress his body's natural inclination to shiver since that will only generate more heat. Oxygen of course, too. Nonetheless, he's going to have to be aggressively monitored ... organ damage is a real concern here ... especially damage to his kidneys."

Chin chuffed a worried sound under his breath, his expression thoughtful. He filled in the gaps which Ramirez hadn't put to words. The very real concern not only of organ damage, but also failure. The potential for Danny not to recover from this attack. Nothing had prepared Chin to learn that both of his friends were now grievously injured. He briefly closed his eyes in concern and took a deep breath in a vain attempt to corral his stampeding thoughts, easily reading the retired doctor's worrisome body language. The almost comical bounce, the jittery wave of a hand, followed by the unconscious habit of looking for deep lab coat pockets which he no longer wore. All of the cues indicating trouble.

"Steve? He's ... what? An internal bleed? How the hell could that even happen?" Chin dared to finally ask after the big doctor grumbled unhappily under his breath, his gaze locked onto a second curtained triage area. Without looking in the same direction, Chin didn't need to know that it was Steve who had now captured Ponch's thoughts.

"What the hell happened? I'm not sure I understand. Steve ... he only just got released a few hours ago!" Chin objected. "What are they doing for him?"

But before Ramirez could answer about concerns related to an internal bleed and what options they might employ, a childish shout carried down the short hallway. The two men turned together, Ponch now murmuring a disgruntled sound deep under his breath when he saw his niece.

"Uncle Ponch!" Becca was holding her Aunt Ellen's hand, only kept from running to him in the busy area by her Aunt's tight hold. Her eyes were tear-filled and her cheeks pinked by sadness. Something more had happened and he scowled unhappily towards his wife.

"I had to bring her," Ellen quietly explained as her husband scooped their niece into his arms, a questioning look in his eyes. She murmured an apologetic hello towards Chin, her desire to know more about both Danny and Steve needing to wait as she dealt with yet another priority. Her husband had called her as he followed the ambulances to curtly say where he would be and why. As a friend, she was worried about each man, not to mention her professional tendencies as a nurse. He knew without a doubt that she'd want to know what had happened. Not so selfishly, he'd also wanted her with him as an additional qualified advocate for each of their friends.

But she'd no opportunity to counter his rapid-fire demands nor tell him about his brother's sudden departure. Torn by indecision and her niece's tearful pleas to see her uncle, Ellen had opted to bring Rebecca with her to the hospital.

"Mike's catching a flight out to L.A. Now," Ellen blurted out, her words causing Becca to tuck herself into her uncle's neck, a sob breaking free from the little girl. "He's decided to continue with finalizing the contract. He said something about the CEO being in L.A. and the meeting being critical to his future."

" _Now_?" Ponch sputtered angrily, his train of thought derailed as his wife stared meaningfully at him. "He went to L.A. _now_?"

Nearly strangled by Becca's arms, he needed to mind his temper. Instead, of saying more, Ponch chuffed in disgust as he whirled in place. With Chin by his side and Becca in his arms, his mind was forced to cycle through far too many issues at once.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	15. Chapter 15

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Fifteen**

Kono casually leaned up against the large pillar with a perfect view of the airport's bar and lounge. She was stunned to have eyes on Tom Callaghan, the man evidently so pompous that he dared to hide in plain sight. He was avidly talking with a dark-haired man. Someone she didn't immediately recognize. Across from her, in ordinary street clothes, Sergeant Duke Lukela loitered by a newspaper stand awaiting her decision based upon the volume of civilians placed directly at risk if they acted too soon.

"Do you see him?" Kono whispered into her comm link. "Fleming? Can you see who Callaghan is talking to right now?" They all knew that Callaghan hadn't worked alone. Based upon intelligence and her diligent research, there was one other individual in the airport and traveling with the mobster, both under assumed aliases. Prints taken from the metallic locks of the container had garnered a hit for one Jason Fleming, a long-time trusted member of Callaghan's regular entourage. Images had been shared amongst HPD and airport security, and now unbelievably, they had at least cornered Callaghan, but not the other. Kono was positive though that their second target was close by.

" _No, not yet,"_ a chorus of voices softly chimed in her earpiece, all to the negative. " _Nothing_."

Kono rolled her shoulders, tense and on edge. She surveyed the area, her eyes piercing as she gauged the large numbers. " _Kono_ ," Lukela chimed softly in her ear. " _Michael Ramirez_."

"What's Michael Ramirez?" Kono asked, confused by the comment.

" _The guy at the bar with Callaghan,_ " Lukela reconfirmed. " _It's Michael Ramirez ... Rebecca's father ... I met him after the fire when he picked her up."_

"That's impossible," Kono whispered. "Why ... how can he be here? And what the hell would he be doing with Callaghan?"

 _"I have no idea,_ " the HPD sergeant replied. " _He wouldn't be working with Callaghan ... did we miss something? The man almost killed his kid; it makes no sense."_

"No. No way," Kono hissed urgently, her eyes now raking over what she could see of the man who Callaghan was engaged with. Now that she knew what to look for, she easily recognized a familiar profile and the breadth of the man's shoulders. "It's got to be some sort of stupid mistake ... six degrees of separation. Some weird coincidence."

" _How do we get him out of there?_ " Lukela asked. " _We've got security clearing the area - but he's too close. Much too close."_

Kono watched as a security guard calmly and efficiently asked individuals to relocate themselves and their families to a different location on the concourse. A bewildered couple hesitated and then did as asked, their nervousness obvious. So far, people were being happily cooperative and no alarms had gone off. They were hoping to not tip off the dangerous criminal and they'd never clear the entire area, but they were certainly doing their best to manage a possible altercation.

"I want Fleming first," Kono complained angrily. "He's got to be here ... he's got to be close!"

" _Got him,"_ a woman's voice whispered a scant moment later, the tone triumphant. " _Book store ... I think we can get him now ... without drawing too much attention. He's alone ... back wall ... rear of the register."_

"Do it," Kono agreed, her mind racing as she considered how to best get Mike Ramirez out of the line of fire. A smile slowly leaked across her face and she beckoned another plainclothes officer to her side. When he joined her, shed her bullet-proof vest, Five-0 badge and traded her larger weapon for a smaller, more discreet piece.

"What are you doing?" He asked as he accepted her gear.

"Protecting a friend," Kono answered, her smile growing as she fixed her hair to hide the comm link. Then she was out in the open, her eyes focused solely on Mike Ramirez's back. Her already confident walk morphing into an angry stalk as she assumed her role.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Mike winced when he caught the foul odor which followed on the heels of a rude laugh. By that point, he didn't care if the guy noticed his distaste or not. Not only boorishly loud, the odor from his mouth was nothing short of unbearable. Nose wrinkled, Mike took a sip of his drink to intentionally fill his nasal passages with the much more soothing scent of his gin and tonic. A candid look proved the obnoxious traveler had a friend and Mike couldn't help wondering how the man's friend could stomach his proximity.

"Vacation?"

"What? No," Mike replied curtly, not entirely surprised when both men paused in their conversation to glare back at him. He hadn't been exactly circumspect about his rising level of annoyance. But then the older one's attitude changed to one of an oily smoothness and he was suddenly interested in chatting him up. Next to him, the loud mouth continued to scowl before murmuring something inane about wanting to buy a book or magazine. Without another word, and much to the relief of Mike's olfactory sense, he pushed off the edge of the bar and stalked away.

"You live in paradise then. Lucky man. I'd give my eye teeth to be out here full time," Tom Callaghan commented with a sly twinkle of an eye as his lackey stormed off. He ignored his man's antics. He'd been in an agitated mood since their dispatch of Williams. Where Callaghan was on cloud nine and wanting to celebrate his success, his young cohort was on edge and now more than anxious to get off the island. Wanting to talk, Callaghan turned towards his neighbor at the bar. He lifted an eyebrow in askance, almost a dare to prompt Mike further to ask the next obvious question. With a barely audible sigh, Mike nodded as he not so willingly took the bait. He eyed the man from top to bottom, yet couldn't get an accurate enough read on him.

"So? What about you?" Mike finally asked. "Vacation ... or business?"

"Business trip for me ... not much time for sight seeing, though I do hope to get back out here sometime again," Callaghan happily offered. "Next time. Definitely."

"That's the shame about business trips," Mike reluctantly said as the conversation expanded. "People think the travel is so great, but the reality is you don't get to enjoy a damned thing outside of a board room. It's rat race."

"Isn't that the truth," Callaghn replied with a wry chuckle before he examined Mike much as he had him. Blatant, rude and with an incredible insight. He intentionally made his neighbor squirm where he sat perched on the tip of his bar stool. But where Mike had issue reading his intents, Callaghan had little problem in picking up on the stiff posture and stress which literally poured off the handsome, younger man. He identified the hard liquor, not so common of a drink for an early afternoon. He held up his finger to forestall any other comments because he wanted to see if he was right; a game he most enjoyed.

"You, my new friend are leaving this fine place on business," Callaghan noted, continuing when he noticed the subtle fidget and dip of Mike's shoulders. "A trip that you seem to have mixed emotions about; so you're also not visiting family this time round. A transfer then or maybe a new job? Something which you seem - and forgive me if I am wrong - a bit unsure about?"

Mike glowered into his drink, his expression more dark than it had been. "You could say that."

"So why do it?" Callaghan challenged. He looked at Mike's hands, noting the lack of a wedding ring and he cocked his head quizzically. No obvious attachments, though not finding a ring or evidence of a tan line wasn't always proof enough. At first blush, the man was far from trapped in a miserable marriage or relationship.

Mike chuffed a noise under his breath, his fingers toying with the heavy glass as he rolled the last dregs at the bottom. "Why indeed," he muttered ruefully.

"What was that?" The older man pressed on. Annoying and invasive of his privacy, he leaned forward almost to eagerly. Yet, Mike found himself talking to this unlikely stranger.

"My career was a bit on hold for a few years ... due to a family ... emergency," Mike said, his voice soft as he considered his deceased wife, Amy. They'd been a happy family up until things had gone so irretrievably wrong. In the mayhem that had become Amy's severe post traumatic stress, he'd almost lost his daughter, too. Permanently. Heaving a sigh, Mike pushed the dire thoughts from his brain as he forged on.

"Anyway, I'm an Engineer and I'm going to L.A. ... this job, it's a great opportunity to jump-start my career again."

"But?" Callaghan prodded as he watched the man completely drain the rest of his drink. The resulting cough was rough and harsh, as was the sour wince. There was a girl then and Callaghan couldn't help himself from chortling his win as he voiced his conclusion. "There's a problem ... and my guess it's a girl. Who is she? Wife? Fiancee?"

"Who is she!?" Mike blurted in shock as he looked up and met the man's frank gaze. "Just who the hell do you think you are?" Things were going down a path much too personal. He bit his tongue to prevent further explosion of a defensive tirade from pouring off his lips as he objected the man's laugh and absolute invasion of his privacy. The strange dynamic was going too far now and he wanted to distance himself, his unease growing exponentially. However, he was stopped by the strength of hand on his forearm, and what seemed to be sincere apology in the older man's eyes.

Disgruntled by feeling a need to provide an answer, Mike paused to gather himself together. There was no way for him to avoid the much too fresh escapade of Becca's running away that first night she'd overheard his plans. Not to mention the close call which both of his friends had endured. In fact, Mike realized, Steve had been scheduled to be discharged from the hospital that very day and here he was, getting on a plane to meet with the CEO. Maybe things were indeed working out; maybe ... just maybe, the timing was finally right. The thoughts were soothing and Mike calmed a bit more, his ability to briefly discuss Becca more palatable.

"I have an eleven year old daughter.. She's ... upset .. not keen on moving to Seattle if this goes through. She doesn't understand what this could mean for us ... or for her future. The money ... is more than good."

"Seattle is very different from Hawaii though," Callaghan calmly stated, his brain conveniently filing away the fact that Mike was most definitely a single-parent. Trapped in a different fashion, thought not necessarily in a bad way. And whatever had happened in the man's past, Callaghan easily assumed it was something more than divorce based upon the man's ire. He considered other scenarios by pulling together the flimsy bits of information he'd gleaned thus far. Family emergency. A career on hold. Something tragic was almost guaranteed and the man was evidently ready to get his life back. But he was uncomfortable - not at all in synch with whatever idea he was attempting to employ. Of course, the daughter was young and the key to her father's happiness when it came to finalizing his decision. As a parent, he was concerned about getting back on their feet because he was the sole bread-winner. Therefore, the crux of the matter lay simply in cash flow and perhaps just a bit of ego.

 _A widower then?_ Callaghan would willingly take a bet that the wife had unhappily passed away. He scowled to himself as his own dead brother came to mind on the heels of that musing. Then of course his failed vow to protect his nephew. A role which he'd always taken seriously until the boy had crossed paths with the likes of Peterson and Williams. Bad cops who took the life of a good boy.

"I can appreciate your dilemma." Growling under his breath as an old anger returned, Callaghan's eyes lost focus. He missed his nephew and he'd let his brother completely down. William's death helped, but didn't quite fix his issue. Nothing ever would since Jay couldn't be replaced or brought back to him. But when he returned state-side, Peterson's death would follow and then ... he'd done all he could at least in retribution.

"Money doesn't solve everything. Oftentimes, it simply creates more ... problems," Callaghan mused quietly, only half listening now. His own personal thoughts were turning inward and he felt a longing inside his chest. He had money and power. Still he'd lost his nephew much too soon. He'd done right by the boy; more than right and he'd still _lost_ one of the only things in his life which had made sense.

"Well," Callaghan softly said, not even caring if Mike was listening. "When my brother died ... I raised his son. And that ... _that_ little boy changed my life. As well as my priorities and ... even after he'd struck out on his own, I'd have done anything to make him happy and keep his world whole. He was my only family and I worked hard to keep him ... _safe_."

Mike pursed his lips, a frown creasing his forehead as Callaghan drifted. For a moment, he wanted to say something agreeable or complimentary but something stopped him. _Was?_ A nagging feeling that Callaghan had suffered not one but two tragic losses slowly dawned on Mike. A moment later, he was proven right as the older man swiveled in his chair to face him, his expression melancholy and his mannerisms stern.

"Do you at least have family there?" Callaghan asked, his eyes refocusing on Mike's face. "Family ... state-side. It will help if you do."

"No," Mike admitted. "They're all here ... on Oahu. My half-brother ... his wife ... we're ... close. They don't have kids and they just adore ... their niece."

"Oh," Callaghan quietly murmured. "And I'm sure that she loves them just as much." He shook his head almost sadly, his opinion soon to be stated whether Mike wanted to hear it or not. "Family's important. All it takes is one bad decision ... one choice which won't be worth the trouble it'll bring down on your head ... or on your little one's. You mark my words." He tapped his fingers on the bar, his eyes narrowing as he tried to proffer what he strongly considered to be sage advice.

"Think hard on this decision before you hurt your family ... or lose your daughter and you find yourself a lonely man."

Mike's jaw audibly clicked as he stared long and hard at the older man. This stranger had hit a painful chord inside his chest and Mike suddenly felt a migraine coming on. "Shit," he mumbled under his breath, wishing that his gin and tonic had been refilled. He needed a drink. A strong one which was no lie. But he startled as a slim hand closed over his shoulder, the grip actually painful and strong enough to spin his chair round.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" The shouted words were punctuated by a loud slap lobbed across his right cheek leaving it hot and throbbing. Mike was positive than anyone within earshot of the horseshoe-shaped bar could not only hear Kono's voice, but could just as well have heard the sharp crack of skin hitting skin.

" _Pupule haole!_ Leaving me alone ... you can't just _leave_ me!"

"Kono!" Mike blurted in shock, his eyes huge and confused as she grabbed his hand to tug him to his feet. "What? _What_ ... I ... Why are you _here_?" He stammered over his tongue stupidly. His fingers tracing the sting left by her hand, the imprint showing white before turning a bright crimson.

"So there _is_ a woman," Callaghan drawled from behind his back. His pleased chuckle became an all out laugh as he clapped Mike on the back. "And a gorgeous _native_ woman at that. Hello beautiful. You, sir, are _absolutely_ ... and without a doubt, completely ... out of your mind."

Kono sneered past Mike, her fury knowing no bounds as she boldly glared at the mobster. "Back off, _brah_."

There'd be no way for Callaghan to know her, so she was safe enough under her quick guise as she tugged Mike away from the bar. Her only prayer went out to the younger Ramirez brother to understand her urgency and to keep his mouth shut. To compound her point as he began to stutter another question, one which could be wholly inappropriate, she twirled on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Eyes flashing angrily, she kissed him hard when his mouth fell open, effectively putting an end to any outburst.

"Why am I here? Shut up, _kane_ ," she growled into his mouth before kissing him again. Her game still on since she felt Callaghan avidly staring at them. Nonetheless, she almost failed at keeping her anger visible when Mike had to catch his breath, licking his lips, the blush on his face pinking up to the tips of his ears. Kono slyly grinned into his face, unable to resist lobbing another lingering kiss on his mouth.

"Kono?" He gasped softly when she pulled back, unsure of anything as she guided him purposefully towards the safety of the larger terminal. "What the _hell_?"

"Just shut up ... come with me. We need to talk. _Now_."

**_~ to be continued ~_ **


	16. Chapter 16

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Sixteen**

Danny's first reflex upon waking was to lash out, albeit weakly. It was a repeat of his first performance precisely mirroring a reaction to his last remembered moment, except this time, he was more awake. Unfortunately though, awake didn't necessarily mean aware and he was most definitely not willing to wait for explanations. There was a disturbing level of activity around him and it was all tangible enough to be alarming, as was his level of physical discomfort. His forearms were restrained almost instantly upon his first wild swing and with that, a rush of adrenalin pushed him into a painful over-drive. He struggled harder, his hands now balled into fists as strong fingers wrapped around his arms to inadvertently leave bruises.

"Damn it! You're going to hurt yourself ... or worse yet, _me_!" Ponch shouted. "Detective ... _Danny_!"

"Crap. Doc!" Behind the elder doctor, Steve lay stranded on his back in his own hospital bed. "Is he okay?" A few rooms in the ICU were large enough to boast the space for two beds, and with Ponch's deliberate maneuvering, he'd managed to at least situate Steve and Danny together. However, Steve was completely bedridden. Pale and being infused due to blood loss, he had been diagnosed with a very painful pseudo-aneurism, an internal hemorrhage which had become large enough to restrict blood flow to his leg. His desperate hop-skipped run across his own yard had set things into a dangerous spiral. But even knowing that now, Steve wouldn't have done a blessed thing differently as he stared helplessly towards his stricken partner.

"Don't you move a muscle!" Ponch growled his threat back towards Steve when he heard the pained inhale. He didn't need to chance a look to understand what the man wanted to do. "We're not doing this again with you, Steve!"

" _Shit_ ," Steve whispered, his frustration and distress obvious as he pulled uselessly at the protective rail to his hospital bed. He'd avoided surgery so far and was still in pain, though it was no longer as debilitating thanks to a proper course of analgesics. With the help of additional medication, the tender area inside his leg had also begun to clot off so it would stop leaking further into surrounding tissue. Things were improving, but at an incredibly slow rate with his blood pressure only being recently stabilized. Nonetheless, he was still at risk as they all waited, for what could only be described, as an internal hematoma to absorb; threats still existed as his doctors were still watching for signs of compartment syndrome. Baffled by such an extreme turn of events, all of which were incredibly life threatening, Steve could only go along with his enforced treatment. He'd be in the hospital for days yet to come being subjected to test after test to ensure he stayed a certain course. However, stuck in a bed and being truly unable to help while Danny continued his own terrifying struggle was slowly becoming more than Steve could handle.

"Doc. _Ponch_!" Steve begged his friend, for what exactly, he didn't know. From where he lay, the tussle was intense and the doctor straining to keep Danny from hurting himself. " _Jesus_ ... Danny. Come on ... _come on!_ " His eyes flew from the broad back to what he could see of Danny's face, glassy eyes opened yet hardly focused as he remained trapped in a living hell.

"You've got to calm him down!"

"I know that!" Ponch argued as he carefully permitted Danny some movement to test the waters and then changed his mind. "I _know_."

He didn't dare let go entirely. Not just yet as he watched the younger man's face for any sign of acknowledgment; some small glimmer of understanding. His jaw jutted unhappily though as he heard Simms behind him suggesting sedation. But he shook his head seconding Steve's instantly voiced objection, hoping Simms would give them a bit longer to break the cycle. While Danny's temperature was still elevated, it wasn't entirely in a dangerous zone and he simply needed to be given more of chance to get with the program.

"Danny, wake up," the elder doctor prodded in exasperation as Danny blearily opened his eyes and stared into his face. "Look at me. It's Ramirez ... Steve is here, too. Are you with me yet?"

 _"Whu...?_ " Danny groaned softly as a frustrated tone forced his eyes open and he looked up, panting and squinting into Doctor Ramirez's face. The lined, aged features backlit by a harsh light. But Danny didn't entirely understand the conflicting signals and he remained stubbornly combative, forcing Ramirez to keep his arms compressed tightly to his body.

"Calm down," Ramirez insisted, mere inches from Danny's nose. "You're _safe_ … it's over, Danny. Take it easy ... you can relax now. Steve is _here_ ... he's right here."

Blinking wildly as the bright lights made his eyes water, Danny's fight continued even as the head of his hospital bed was raised by someone he couldn't focus on and his view of the room expanded. Still he fought, his body seemingly wired to his last cognizant thought and the place he remembered being last. Other than his wild breathing, he didn't make any other sound and barely sense that real words were being said to him. Stuck inside his head, all he could hear was his own panicked, off-kilter breathing punctuated by a harsh wheeze deep in his throat.

"Simms is right, we may have to sedate him," Ponch warned Steve, glancing over his shoulder towards Steve's bed and nodding dejectedly at Simms. "He's not getting it. We can't risk him getting this worked up."

"Wait. No!" Steve pleaded, his tone adamant as he looked from one man to the other. "Danno! _Danny_ ... look at me! Just ... _damn it_ ... look at me, buddy!" He didn't dare move for the pain he'd cause himself, yet Steve could project his voice and that was what he did, all his efforts now focused entirely on Danny's anguished expression.

Breathing hard, Danny paused briefly, his body tense since the fight wasn't even slightly gone from his muscles. He waited a hairs-breadth, his head only turning for Steve's second shout which was undeniably fraught with pain ... and a great deal of urgency.

"Hey … _Danno_! You're _okay_ … Danny, _look_ at me!" Steve shouted again, the vibration of his own voice jarring his body hard enough to make him wince. But he won Danny's sketchy attention and for that, he almost smiled when the shiny blue of his eyes finally latched on to his own. "Hey ... you with us now, buddy?"

The frown was long in coming, but Danny quieted as he tried to piece his fragmented experiences together. The remembered nightmare against the reality of this moment where he could truly breathe and actually see instead of being so severely limited to that of a stagnant, sickly greenish-hued world. His gaze wavered for a moment, from Steve to Ponch who was so close and continuing to gently restrain him, finally back to Steve.

 _"St...ve?"_ He mouthed the name, brow furrowed, his lips gummy and briefly sticking together. It was right and wrong, causing the frown to become a worried scowl because Steve shouldn't be ... _there_. Not there ... with Callaghan.

 _"Whu … whuu'er do'in 'ere?"_ Danny objected Steve's presence, his throat painfully dry and his voice clearly holding a bad tremor which slurred his words. He screwed his eyes shut for a long moment when a flare of pain rippled across the right side of his temple, the reason for which he didn't quite know.

"Think," Steve demanded when his friend winced, his agitation continuing to be high as each new ache made itself known. "Calm down a minute and just settle, Danno. Look at me and calm down … now _think_."

Danny tried as he looked at Steve again, his right eye only half-open as the white steri-strips closing the gash from Callaghan's gun pulled on the badly bruised skin. He tried hard to pay attention and do what he'd been told, and slowly his objections faltered. "Steve?" Danny whispered more audibly, his confusion still running rampant as he fought to understand. He tried to pull his arms free, winning only one as Ponch carefully tested the waters.

"That's better," Ramirez said in approval, daring a one-sided smile as he relaxed his hold when he felt the detective literally deflate under his hold. "Much, much better."

 _"Wh-t ... happ'ned?"_ Danny whispered as he shakily investigated the nasal cannula under his nose, then traced his fingers over the smooth pieces of tape and finally, skirted the tender swelling near his right cheekbone. Something had happened. Something bad with Callaghan, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it as he stared almost dumbly into Steve's face. Completely incapable of understanding why Ramirez was standing over him or why he was bedridden or better yet, why Steve seemed so very upset.

"You scared the shit out of me, Danno," Steve muttered in reply. "No lie, buddy. But you're okay now ... we're both going to be fine." A quaver settled in his voice, one of relief though a deep-seated worry refused to entirely leave. As with himself, the doctors had yet to announce his partner as safely on the right side of healthy. And based on what they just had all experienced, they were wise to be so cautious. Heaving in a deep sigh, Steve carefully braced up on his left shoulder as he measured Danny's still far too pale complexion. 

"Don't ever ... _ever_ do that again," he added softly before breaking eye contact with his partner. The seizures had been terrifying and he still feared another because of what he considered only tenuous improvements. Seeking out Simms for affirmation, Steve aimed a very serious question at the doctor. "Is he all right now?"

 _"Wha... wha'ssh ...g'on on?"_ Danny slurred his question at Steve, his eyes flitting nervously to a face he didn't know as he realized even more disturbing facts about his condition. Hooked up to a myriad of machines and on IV fluids, he'd also been given medication to prevent shivering on order to avoid an accidental increase of his core body temperature. Hovering now around 101 degrees, his body temperature had much improved, but it was still considered to be high and he felt sick. Cooling blankets had been replaced now with ice packs circling his head, neck, and placed under his armpits, and on his groin. None of which was soothing or made sense.

Disoriented, he tried to push himself up and wound up only being gently prevented once more by the big doctor.

"Steve?" Danny called out nervously as his hands balled into fists. _"St've? Call-han .._. was ... _him_. You shouldn't ... be here. _Why're_ ... here? _Why_?" His signals remained mixed as he argued his fears and the reasons why Ramirez wouldn't let him up. Apprehensive and still feeling trapped, he could only dwell on the fact that something remained incredibly wrong. _Callaghan. Yet, another trap_ ... _associated to Steve_. Somehow? That belief settled inside his chest and Danny felt the pang as it trilled fearfully.

"No. No ... it's all right. Steve's here because it's over now," Ponch soothed gently, his voice interjecting reason and finally making a dent as he carefully enunciated each word. "Steve and I found you ... that fool is in custody ... Kono got him, Danny. You're safe ... everyone is perfectly safe."

"Kono? Custody?" Danny breathed out tiredly, all fight draining from his muscles. "Custody? He's ... in ... custody?" He wilted entirely as he measured the elder doctor's face, his brain finally catching up to what he was being told. He was in the hospital then and not stuffed inside the suffocating interior of a house-hold storage container. Inhaling slowly, Danny nodded in acquiescence. He was out and by some stroke of divine luck, Callaghan had been apprehended.

"Steve?" He pushed though, his eyes more glassy as he argued their desire to slip shut. He was exhausted, sick and well past a point of being able to cope. Something was still wrong no matter what he was being told and he stared hard at his partner, confused by what he was finally seeing. His hand lifted a few inches from his chest as he tried to gesture towards Steve's bed, the white hospital gown, and the intravenous line. The long skinny snake of red tubing leading from an elevated bag and into Steve's arm wasn't right and Danny grimaced.

"Hey, what did I say?" Steve said definitively, the tiniest of relieved smiles leveling the stress in his voice. "We're both okay now." He looked to Simms in askance, finally put more at ease when the doctor grinned and gave him a thumbs-up signal that Danny was doing well. However, the doctor also made it clear that they needed to keep things brief as Danny's eyes began to flutter in earnest. While Danny was now more coherent, neither of them were in any condition for a prolonged conversation.

"We're both in the _hospital_ ," Steve reassured him, fighting an urge to scrub his face. "And ... we're both going to be absolutely fine, Danno. Okay?" He was fidgety, itchy with stress and barely keeping his emotions under wraps. Without a single doubt, any habitual move would say too much and Danny was just beginning to settle into a more acceptable place.

Owl-eyed, Danny stared at Steve, a slow blink becoming a quiet moment where his lids nearly stayed closed before they stubbornly snapped open wide again. He blinked rapidly to clear the haze, his attempt to focus on Steve hard won as he voiced a reply which was short but clearly audible. "Yeah, ' _kay_."

"Get some rest," Ponch added as he fully released Danny to stand to his full height. He watched warily as Danny shakily raised his arm, the younger man squinting as he got a good enough look at his bruised wrist which flopped over limply.

As he eyed the mottled skin, Danny's brow furrowed in thought. His fingers were pudgy and uncomfortable; damaged by his attempts to break free. Danny swallowed hard as his brain supplied important answers: the black zipties were gone. The duct tape was gone; as was the horrific feel of the gag which had nearly sucked the very life from him as he fought to breathe inside the small, hot space. Other than the rancid plastic-like odor which seemed forever burned inside his nasal passages, he was okay now. Definitely okay, despite so much of him which felt simply sick and he closed his eyes, their burn finally becoming too much to contend with.

"Steve?" He slurred, the darkness actually comforting behind his closed lids. " _S'okay_? Is ... it?" Eyes closed, he persisted in asking since he needed to be certain no matter the proof. He had to be sure just one more time before he felt confident enough to actually rest; to sleep and heal and not find this to be a terrible trick. He could scarcely get the words out though, relying on Steve to fill in the gaps he couldn't say as his voice waned to virtually nothing.

"Yeah? Here ... too?" He murmured. "You? ' _kay_?"

"Yeah. Right here, Danno," Steve promised from off to his right. "I'm right here ... and Doc's right about Kono, too. Everything's buttoned up ... I'm not going anywhere. Go to sleep, buddy. I'll be here when you wake up." The stress in his tone had now lessened considerably and Danny listened. He listened hard as Steve also seemed to relax based on the relieved sigh which quietly floated across to him. That alone was enough for Danny to sketch a weary nod, his eyes resolutely closed, but lips moving soundlessly just one final time as he fell asleep.

_**~ to be continued ~** _


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the below with Ponch and a reference to Todd ... early on in my first stories with him as an OC, it was briefly mentioned that Ellen was his second wife. His first left him with full custody of their son. Ergo, the reference to Todd.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Uncle Steve? Where's Uncle Danny?"

"What? _Ow_!" Steve startled awake from a light doze to find Becca by his bedside. " _Ow! Shi .._. Becca!" He jarred his leg and his rather inelegantly hissed reply proved the spark of pain which radiated into his hip bone. He automatically bit his tongue to prevent what he wanted to say about the painful burn as Becca's eyes bore worriedly into his own. Behind her, and already looking chagrined, Ellen placed her hands on her niece's shoulders, poised to leave as quickly as they'd showed up.

"She was too fast for me and I didn't have a chance to head her off," Ellen apologized. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were sleeping, Steve. We'll come back later so you can rest."

"No, no. It's all good," Steve said as he gestured to the dog-eared magazines which littered the bed. "You should both stay." One magazine was tented over a knee, pages furled and crinkled. Bored, he'd only closed his eyes for a few minutes before their unexpected arrival. His response was entirely truthful as he gently fidgeted to a better position. "I was only resting my eyes."

"Are you okay?" Becca asked. She was on his right side, warily gauging the intravenous line and how stiffly he was laying in bed. It was all especially scary since she'd been there the first time when the bad men had trapped them. Now, she'd been told particular bits and pieces of what had happened next at Steve's own house. Danny had gotten hurt again and so had Steve in protecting him with her Uncle Ponch.

Eyes pooling as if she might cry too soon, Becca looked at the second empty bed. "And Uncle Danny ... is he okay, too? Where is he?" Afraid to smile for any number of reasons, she was entirely serious and her usual exuberant self was incredibly forlorn.

"Yeah, I'm good and so's Danny," Steve said to lessen some of her fears, his smile more relaxed as the ache in his leg lessened to a duller roar. He tapped her nose with one finger, trying to make her smile but was confused when she barely managed to lift one side of her mouth. She was very upset then and it was more apparent that her single-minded goal continued to be related to her father's plans. With a glance to Ellen, Steve nodded before turning his attention towards the little girl, encouraging her to climb up and sit next to his side. Evidently there was no time like the present.

"I think we have a lot to talk about though. Is that right?" He chuffed a quizzical sound when Becca nodded, her head down and her long hair hiding part of her face. She played with her own fingers until he took her hand to stop the nervous movements.

"Rebecca does want to talk to you. Alone if okay," Ellen confirmed, her head cocked though while she measured his complexion and the tiredness which creased his eyes. "But maybe now isn't such a good time. You look tired. Do you need anything?"

"I'm seriously fine," he assured Ellen before looking towards Danny''s empty bed and frowning in thought. Danny had improved greatly but he didn't much like the tone of things; his friend's general attitude was nearly as unreadable and subdued as little Rebecca's.

"He's not back yet?" Steve fumbled for the remote, his thumb simultaneously raising the head of his own bed a little higher. He'd lost track of time, but it seemed as if his friend had been gone for a very long time. However, he could only shrug as he smiled warmly to both of his visitors. "Danny decided he needed to take a walk and make a phone call or two. I'm sure he'll be back soon. Regardless, we can talk a bit now ... it's fine. Really."

Without looking at her aunt, Becca didn't move a single muscle. She'd already asked if she could talk to Steve alone. Privately. And so, fighting another bout of tears, she waited for the two adults to agree. Behind her, she felt her aunt shift her feet and then both her shoulders were gently squeezed, providing all the permission she needed. Then, the instant where Ellen left her with Steve, Becca's eyes were indeed filling with tears, one daring to escape much too soon. Even though her father had missed the flight to Los Angeles because of some mistake at the airport, things were far too fresh and she didn't trust that he'd make plans to go again.

"I don't want to leave," Becca blurted softly. "He keeps talking about this stupid job ... and more money ... and taking care of me better."

"He only wants the best for you," Steve insisted, his comment instantly wrong as Becca's face crumbled further. He scowled at himself knowing that the little girl had heard that at least one thousand times before. She wanted more - valid reasons she could understand in her young eleven year old mind - and with all his heart, Steve suddenly wished Danny had been there to help with better words.

Uncertain of what to do or say, Steve was quiet for a long moment, until he made the oddest of choices. Selecting his words carefully, he shared something that very few knew. "When I was a little bit older than you, my father made a decision I didn't like too much," he said. "Something happened ... something bad when I was in high school. My mom sort of ... _left_ ... like yours. After she left, my dad was desperate to take care of me and my sister."

He watched as Rebecca's ears seemed to perk up at this change in conversation. She waited respectfully, hanging on to every word. "Well, right in the middle of my sophomore year, he sent me and my sister away to live on the mainland ... without him. He stayed here to work because he felt he had to protect us."

"Alone?" Becca asked, her voice literally quaking at the thought. "He sent you away ... _alone_?"

"Yeah, and it was scary because we didn't have a choice. My sister stayed with family ... and I was sent to a military boarding school for my last two years of high school," Steve added, an old internal sense of unease kindling inside his stomach as he remembered those terrible times. "I made some good friends and really ... it wasn't all that bad in the end." Steve inwardly winced at the white-lies as he strongly edited his comments to cut to the key parts, half of him arguing internally with himself as to how to keep his comparison relevant to the eleven year old.

"After everything was said and done, my sister stayed in California to live with our aunt. I went on to the Naval Academy and finally I came back here ... home ... eventually. But it was hard at first ... really really hard, Becca. And at the time, we both hated it ... we didn't understand why our dad felt he had to make that decision. We missed each other .. and him ... a lot. When we were older, we found out that he hated to have to make that choice for us, too. It split up our family and was ... _well_ , we were all unhappy for a very long time. But it was the right thing to do at the time ... and it all worked out for the best.

"I want to stay with my dad," she whispered sadly as she tried hard to figure out what Steve meant. Leaving was bad enough, but being sent away without her father would be ten times worse. The idea was beyond terrifying. "But I want to stay here, too. With Aunt Ellen and Uncle Ponch. Why can't we just stay here?"

"I know you do, sweetie," Steve gently replied. "I guess what I'm saying is that you have to trust your father to make the right decision even if you don't like or understand it _today_ ; you might hate it and you might not understand it until you're much older. But Becca, this is a super hard choice for him, too. And honestly, he does only want the best for you no matter what. He thinks that this job opportunity will do just that - give you both the very best of things - and he just wants to _try_. I know it sounds really scary ... I understand because I was scared back then, too."

Steve waited as Rebecca mulled through his greatly abridged story. She made a face at him and he nearly laughed because with that one look, she couldn't accept him as ever being scared. _Hell_ , Becca probably couldn't even see him as a kid!

"You never get scared," she said the words finally, her lips toying with a small smile. "Uncle Steve, you're too brave to get scared!"

"You're wrong there! Because back then, I _was_ scared," Steve insisted. "And so was my sister. Come to think of it, she was about your age, too, and super scared about such a big change. But do you get what I'm trying to say, Becca? Your father has some hard choices to make and sometimes, you just have to go with what happens and even if you're a bit scared, try to be brave. And I know for a fact, that you are very brave when it matters most!"

"I'm not," Becca murmured softly. She never felt brave despite what he sometimes said. Still, she thought she understood what Steve was trying to say, but her face reddened in embarrassment when he most unexpectedly reprimanded her.

"You need to promise me something." He held her fingers tightly, his voice a bit more firm than ever before. "I know you were looking for me to talk to that night," Steve whispered privately, a gentle squeeze of her fingers forcing her to look directly into his face. "You can't run away again ... there's other ways. Safer, far better ways to talk things out without scaring everyone who loves you, Becca. Promise me that you will _not_ run away like this again ... not even if you think what you're doing is because you're coming to see me, or your Uncle Danny. No matter how you cut it, you still _ran away_. You scared your aunt and uncle half to death; you really scared your dad, too, and it only makes everything so much harder. Give everything a chance ... trust your father ... and promise me that you'll not run away again. Promise me, Becca."

"Okay," Becca solemnly nodded. "I won't run away again. I promise." She knew precisely what he meant now and her Uncle Steve was completely right. Her inclination to run and hide had certainly made the tension so much worse between her and her father; even her aunt and uncle were mad at him and she didn't want that either. They were always so happy and arguing was a foreign affair. She'd heard their arguments and something inside her pinged painfully when she was touted as a reason. So she thought she understood and made a private vow to be more brave, too.

"Can I trust you? Really ... will you promise me, Becca?" Steve pressed on though, his hand covering hers to ensure that she was genuinely listening and that he'd made his point. He smiled when she carefully leaned forward to give him a hug, her arms over his chest and her tearful whisper loud and clear.

"I do. Yes, I promise," Becca murmured, her tears soaking immediately into his hospital gown. She closed her eyes and then nodded as Steve rubbed a gentle circle on her back because she'd do her very best to try everything he asked her to do. And even though she was afraid, she'd trust her father, too.

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Mike hung his head, eyes closed, hands dangling loosely between his knees as he sat hunched over on an uncomfortable hospital bench. He was trying not to think so hard. His headache had grown beyond the realm of reasonable once Kono had explained the situation. Knowing now that he'd been elbow to elbow with the men who'd nearly killed his daughter – intentional or not because Five-0 was convinced that they'd kept Becca's existence completely quiet – was something he simply couldn't fathom and he wasn't able to flip a switch that might shut his brain off. He was angry. Mortified. Even scared. Frankly, he was so mixed up inside his head, Mike didn't know where to land with his emotions at all.

Callaghan had been subsequently arrested with nary a hair out of place and most customers in the airport being none the wiser. But after being questioned and avowing that he'd not known who Tom Callaghan was, despite Kono's similar reassurances to everyone with a vested interest, Mike had been sent on his way. There'd even been some good humor thrown in about Kono's kiss which she took gracefully from her peers, but which only added to Mike's ongoing embarrassment. By the time that all of that had happened too, he'd missed his flight entirely. Then he'd gone to his brother's house wanting to explain himself only to find the residence deserted.

He'd missed the flight, lost his job opportunity and then misplaced his family. Calls had gone unheeded until Ellen had finally called him back, explaining not only the situation with his daughter, but also that of Danny and Steve. Incredibly, in the few short hours he'd decided to once more act on what he thought was a gift not only for his career, but for his daughter, life had pulled the rug right out from under his feet. Again.

With Ellen occupying his daughter with a short shopping spree, he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. So feeling lost himself and continuing to search for how he'd be able to explain what had happened at the airport, Mike found himself looking for his brother. With nothing but time on his hands and understanding that Ponch was playing medical advocate for their friends, he wound up sitting in the hospital on a plain bench rehearsing scenarios in his head. Merely waiting for his brother; for what though, he wasn't even sure anymore. Maybe Ponchie wouldn't even bother to see him by that point and he'd have no chance to talk things out. Yet he needn't have considered that as an option as a large shape sauntered his way.

"Mikey," Ponch softly breathed out, his tone unreadable. "Ellen said that you might show up here."

"How's Steve?" Mikey instantly asked, his vision blurring as he stared hard at a scuff mark on the floor. "And Danny ... God, I can't believe what ... they ... he... did to him." He didn't look up. Already having judged himself, he was afraid to. His voice faltered and then broke entirely, guilt bleeding through each word.

"How was that kiss?" There was an amused sound on the heels of that sly pronouncement as Mike colored a deep red. A soft curse was nearly inaudible. Ponch grinned at the bowed head and chuckled even louder. With Chin Ho still at the hospital, news had traveled quickly and he'd been filled in on practically everything related to his brother.

"I don't believe it," Mike coughed out, his discomfit growing as he palmed his eyes until they watered. "How the hell did you know? And what exactly do you know then?"

"Chin's still here," Ponch admitted dryly. "Young Kalakaua called ... and well ... honestly, I know everything, Mikey. But I'd love to hear your side of things."

"My side," Mike breathed out blandly. "Do I even have a side anymore?"

"You didn't know who he was," Ponch said calmly about Callaghan. His grin faded as he opted to slightly change the topic in order to give his brother time to regain his composure. "But as for your first question, Steve is holding his own. He'll be here a few days so he can be monitored, as will Danny." He tried to soothe his brother, but he was angry inside, too. For the normally active retired doctor, sitting was a chore, as was his mindless walking which had become a rapid pacing of the hallway as he was forced to wait for updates he'd normally be presented with. Now feeling impotent in the one place he'd ever mattered, in some ways he was as lost as Mike.

"They'll be all right though?" Mike pressed for more and he finally looked up, wanting to be sure that his brother wasn't holding back any information. "Danny?"

"His body temperature is nearly normal now," Ponch replied. "The staff is monitoring his kidneys for any signs of trouble ... so far, he's looking good, Mikey."

Mike nodded a moment later, his relief obvious until he blushed again.

"I'm an idiot," he blurted out when he felt his brother rock into him, their shoulders brushing each other. He felt the responding ripple through Ponch's arm even though the older man tried not to laugh outright. With that sly shudder, Mike literally felt the silent huff which meant Ponch agreed wholeheartedly and he had to smile down at the floor.

"You could be just a little more understanding about it," Mike said reproachfully.

"You're kidding right?" Ponch grinned into the side of his brother's face, completely incapable of not giving him a hard time. "You wind up meeting a mobster at an airport bar, have a heart to heart with the guy over your daughter. This is the same maniac who almost killed two of our best friends and would have killed Rebecca whether he knew she was there or not. You manage to kiss young Kalakaua ... and I'm supposed to be understanding? What exactly am I supposed to understand, Mikey?"

"Ponchie, stop!" Mike replied, half laughing and half miserable. "I get it ... I _am_ an idiot!" He was still unable to look his brother in his eye, made worse because, in his mind, he'd already embraced a mobster's advice. Of late, he could barely talk to his daughter and only managed to talk to his sister-in-law when she initiated any and all conversation. The job was done. Over. There was no opportunity any more; it had dried up like dust and simply disintegrated. But all of that was going to be okay because he was going to heed a killer's sound advice. It made no sense and yet it completely did. He'd be staying on Oahu and Becca would happily stay, too. He hadn't said it out loud yet, but he'd made his decision. He'd decided, but he wasn't content or happy or even remotely at peace with any part of what had occurred.

"Yes, you are," Ponch agreed as he threw an arm over his brother's shoulders and hugged him into his side. "But I love you anyway, Mikey. Besides, between you and me ... I do understand. More than you know."

"Todd," Mike replied. He shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry ... after nearly losing Becca, I can imagine what your divorce was like. Then losing custody."

Ponch heaved a deep sigh, loudly and unapologetic. "I chose my career over my wife and child at the time; and she was right. So now, I don't even know what my son looks like anymore, Mikey. I know you mean well ... and deep down, so does Becca. And whatever Steve said to her seems to have really calmed her down a great deal. She's not happy, but she's definitely more settled. Still, with whatever comes down the road and with whatever decision you decide in the end, I will support you. Just please, make sure you're both _ready_."

"Steve is a good friend ... I can't thank him enough for whatever he said to her," Mike whispered with a genuine smile. "Based on what Ellen could share over the phone, she's definitely more settled. But you would have been a good father, Ponchie. To Todd ... if he'd ever given you the chance."

"Todd's his mother's son. There are no chances," Ponch replied with a wry smile as he got to his feet at the sound of happy shout. He smiled and held his arms out to the colorful blur that was running towards them both down the hospital hallway.

_"Daddy! Uncle Ponch!"_

"Besides, Mikey!" He laughed as he swung Becca high up into his arms before mock-tossing her over to Mike, who caught his daughter in the air, mid-giggle. "I make a much better Uncle anyway."

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

Danny lay quietly on his right side, his hands sandwiched palm to palm between his drawn up knees, staring at Steve while he slept. He had the pillow just right so he wouldn't lean exactly on the white steri-strips and was managing to miss the worst of his bruised temple by a hairs-breadth. Almost comfortable, he just kept staring. Separated by no more than four feet and an occasionally drawn privacy curtain, over the course of the last ten hours, he'd ample opportunity to hear about his best friend's list of mind-boggling woes. The last of Danny's tests had come back healthily optimistic, his kidneys confirmed as functioning well. His body temperature now a very boring normal, too. However, Steve's medical case was quite another story because where plenty of time had elapsed for Danny's health to improve, Steve's continued to be guarded.

Quietly cataloguing what he saw, Danny disliked Steve's pallor and the way the skin remained so tight around his eyes. The slight pinch proved the ongoing feelings of a pained discomfort. Even with the strength of the pain meds, Steve's leg and hip seemed constant homes to a deep, dull throb. The ongoing ache was exhausting and physically debilitating in its persistence. It chipped steadily away at Steve's usual calm reserve and was directly responsible for his lackluster appearance and diminished energy where he barely deigned to move in the bed.

Anger spiking over Steve's condition, Danny moodily fought his dire thoughts about Callaghan. While Steve had his short tete-a-tete with Rebecca, he'd made a series of phone calls. One in particular, state-side to check on Rick Peterson and he'd learned that not one, but two attempts had been been made on the ex-police officer. Peterson was in solitary and the episodes frightening enough. Discussions about a discrete move to a different facility were in progress. But to Danny, the damage was done and nothing would prevent Callaghan from getting his way.

Nothing.

" _Shit_ ," Danny murmured inaudibly. His eyes fully expressing his ongoing worry, he went back to staring at his friend. A jailed Callaghan meant little in the grand scheme of things. The mobster had grown more powerful over the years. He'd also extended his arm to reach so very far. Peterson wouldn't be safe and frankly, neither would he until there was some kind of a very permanent resolution.

"Stop staring at me," Steve lazily exhaled the words without opening his eyes. "You're staring ... knock if off, Danno." He'd woken just a few seconds earlier, a soft fidget and a murmur of sound immediately reaching his ears. His voice was weedy, thin and he barely projected across the short span between the beds as he easily guessed the crux of Danny's troubles. "I'm fine ... and none of this is your fault."

"Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?" Danny snarked, disguising just how upset he still was through a faked flare of annoyance. Between his knees, his hands clasped even more tightly together. He was feeling better, but Steve was certainly not as he suffered through more scans of his injured leg, rounds of antibiotics and strong pain medication all still prescribed courses of action. And all of which Steve readily accepted without complaint because the ramifications were terrifying. With only a few hours elapsed, he was still at risk of continued bleeding or compartment syndrome. He'd be a resident of said hospital until his caretakers were fully assured that he'd stopped bleeding internally.

"Besides, yeah. It is totally my fault; all of this is my fault," he added. "You ... you sure as hell didn't need to make it ten times worse."

Once he'd learned the true scope of Steve's injuries, he'd hit the roof. Hard. Unrelentingly. "You nearly died the first time," he argued, the grimace on his face further telling of his feelings but his verbal rampage picking up speed. "I guess it wasn't enough that you had to deal with a slug that decided to live in your back for a while? It wasn't nearly good enough that you needed surgery to fix untold damage?" Danny ramped up though his words slurred for his position. "Oh no! You just _had_ to aggravate the entire thing by ... _running_?"

"Yup," Steve shrugged. "And I'd damn well do it again. All of it." His blasé attitude only serving to aggravate his partner more; precisely his goal. "How long you want to go at this, Danno?"

Jaw-cocked in annoyance, Danny glared at his friend when Steve's head rolled his way. Eyes now open, he tried to stay firm as Steve's weary gaze met his own. But the aged look only made him angrier and Danny chuffed a disgusted sound. "You almost _died_ , Steve."

"Knock it off, Danny," Steve breathed out with as much energy as before. "You almost died, too. Twice. So we're even." He was tired and the constant ache was indeed sapping his meager reserves despite the pain meds. Enforced rest was something he was beginning to be unable to cope with; much like Danny's occasional issues with claustrophobia. So in this as a comparison, Steve could completely sympathize. But being in such state was additionally trying on his sense of patience, and beneath his calm exterior, he was fighting an urge to smack Danny upside his bruised head for good measure.

"I'm sorry," Danny choked in stunned surprise. "What?" He shifted his head and then hissed as he accidentally tweaked the bandages on his temple. " _Even_? We're ... even? _Even_ in what ... internal bleeds? Hematomas? What exactly? Who gets the most blood transfusions? Are near-death experiences now a challenge? Because I don't like those rules, Steven."

Steve kept his eyes closed as a cocky grin deepened across his face. "I'd like to think that it's the saving part ... but then, I'd win because I saved your ass twice ... and you might have saved mine only once. So you're right; it's not a tie and we're not even at all. Actually, I win. So ... you're welcome, Danno." With a sly chuckle, Steve turned his head back to center on his pillow, his eyes closing again as he calmly listened to a series of perturbed sputters from his left. A soft smile stayed on his lips until Danny's next words reached him. Words which sobered them both.

"It's not over," Danny mouthed so low that Steve barely picked up on the murmur of sound. "Just because Callaghan is in custody ... _jailed_. It's not over, Steve. He's gone after Rick ... he's not done and he won't be done until he gets what he wants."

"I know," Steve said as he turned his head just enough. "I know and I don't like the idea of you getting out of here before me ... I mean, I know that you want to get home. But Danny, we have to be careful. You have to be more careful and I don't want you to be alone."

If he'd been expecting an argument or a show of anger, Steve was incredibly wrong. Instead, the silence in the room was deafening in its intensity. For the first time, in a long time, neither of them really knew what to do because it wasn't over. Silence meant that Danny agreed. His lack of response clearly meant that he was more than just a bit rattled. Even though Tom Callaghan was incarcerated, he wasn't finished. Not by a long shot.

_**~ END ~** _


End file.
